


Blue

by softlybarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Recovery, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlybarnes/pseuds/softlybarnes
Summary: James and Y/N take a road tip across the country to help Bucky’s recovery process. A question Y/N asks at the beginning of the trip sets Bucky searching his memories for an answer, one he finds he needs if he can move forward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not as angsty as it sounds I promise. It’s going to be rather lighthearted for the most part. The reader and Bucky will get into quite a few shenanigans. Also, its cold where I live so I’m doing an opposites thing because I miss the summer.

“So why blue?”

Bucky glances up as Y/N sets two cups of coffee down on the cracked linoleum of their table. “What?” he asks as she slides into the booth across from him, his eyes tracking her every movement. The diner she insisted on stopping at is 50’s themed. The waitresses are older than he is, the food is greasy, and most of the customers seem to be truckers. But Y/N wiggles in her seat in excitement. There’s a happy gleam in her eyes that’s brighter than usual.

“The waitress will be over in a minute to get our orders. Do you know what you want?” She turns in her seat to send the elderly waitress a smile who is taking orders at the counter.

“Pancakes,” he says, not taking his eyes off her. She glances back to him, her eyes bright under the baseball cap on her head. For a second he can’t breathe, looking at her sparkling eyes. But then she glances away again, a smile on her face, as she examines the diner. They’re a few days into a road trip across the country, suggested by a team of psychologists. It would be good for him, they said. And with Y/N sitting across from him and a three night strike of his nightmares, he thinks they might be right.

Her eyes turn back to him, flicking over him quickly, “Pancakes! I like pancakes, but I think I’m going to get, uh,” she grabs a plastic laminated, faded yellow menu and purses her lips. “Eggs and bacon and toast and gits and fruit and-,”

“You won’t eat all of that.”

She looks affronted and presses a hand to her chest, slapping the menu back onto the table. “I’m offended, Bucky Barnes! I can eat all of that and more. I wasn’t even done listing all the food I was going to get.”

A wide smile overcomes her face as the waitress arrives to take their orders.

Y/N is a friend of Steve’s, someone he had met while walking around New York. She’s normal  and she’s also a psychologist but not one that worked for Stark or the Avengers or whoever. And Bucky has been in love with her since the moment he met her. So when the trip was suggested he immediately suggested Y/N to go with him. Not Steve. Not one of the fancy psychologists Stark hired for the team. Not Sam. Not Nat.

Only Y/N would do.

Steve had been a little shocked.

No one else really was. His crush is rather obvious, he thinks.

When the waitress leaves, Bucky meets Y/N’s eyes again, “What did you mean ‘why blue’?”

“Oh it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have asked. I was just thinking, while I was waiting for our coffees, about you.” His heart jumps a little at her admission, that she had been thinking about him, but he doesn’t interrupt as she continues. “Your Commando uniform…during the war, it was blue. The coat at least, was blue. It’s an odd choice for any modern solider but especially for a sniper. None of you had regulation uniforms but your color choice is especially interesting.”

Something presses to the front of his brain, a dangerous memory. But he doesn’t want to have a panic attack in this restaurant. He doesn’t want to examine the memory. He doesn’t want to lose it in front of Y/N. He doesn’t want her to see how truly fucked up he is. And so he pushes the memory, and the feelings attached to it, away, locks it up, tells himself he’ll analyze it later.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says as Y/N says it along with him at the same time. He frowns and she smiles back at him.

“I figured. That’s why I changed the subject. For a therapist I have a really bad habit of speaking before I think.”

Bucky takes a sip of his burnt coffee just to have something to do before he says, “That’s because you’re curious by nature. Not a bad thing to be.” He knows she didn’t mean anything by asking.

The smile that he receives makes that warm feeling, that always rests in his chest when Y/N is around, intensify. “Thanks, Buck! You’re always so sweet to me. Turing my flaws into the most excellent personality traits.”

He only rolls his eyes at her before sipping his coffee again, wincing a little at the taste. It’s so bitter he can actually taste the bitterness. “Is it okay?” She asks, eyes wide as she peers into his cup.

“Pretty bad to be honest. Don’t you have the same?”

“I think I got the cup from the new pot she brewed. You got the old stuff.” Before he can stop her she grabs his cup and switches it with her own. “If you load a bunch of sugar in there it’ll probably be better and you’ll be able to taste it.”

He frowns at her as she takes a sip of the acrid coffee and doesn’t even flinch. “What do you mean by that?”

Y/N shrugs and smiles up at a few bikers who walk past their table. “I noticed that when you eat you have to add some spices or a bunch of salt or more sugar even if it’s already _so_ sugary. And so I had this theory about your taste buds and I asked Bruce and I was right.” She stops and picks at the tabletop. “I hope that doesn’t bother you, that I asked. Curiosity, y’know.”

“No, I adore your curiosity, darlin’. What did Bruce say?”

She cocks her head to the side, “You don’t know?”

More people enter the roadside diner, hot summer air pushing inside, the smell of asphalt carrying on it. “No. I don’t really…I don’t _want_ to know all the ways in which this body is changed. I don’t want to know all the things that makes it not mine anymore and so sometimes I just accept it, don’t ask, and move on. Why I can’t taste very well was one thing I decided to let go.”

He doesn’t look at her, reaches up to tug his own cap lower over his forehead. “Don’t make me therapize you, Bucky Barnes.”

An unexpected chuckle leaves him. It surprises him. She managed to make his own laugh sneak up on him. “Well, you gonna tell me darlin’? Why can’t I taste shit?”

“I don’t imagine many people want to taste _shit_ , Barnes.” He glances up to find her positively glowing, her lips twisting upwards in the most delicate way. He wants to kiss her. It’s something he shouldn’t want, something he doesn’t deserve to want. He wouldn’t know how to ask even if he thought she’d allow him to. Her eyes sparkle, as cliché as it is.

But they do, they sparkle as though she’s captured the whole universe inside them, all the stars and planets and galaxies.

She’s no ordinary therapist, that much he’s sure of. She definitely isn’t like the stiff, strictly professional headshrinkers he’s forced to interact with.

“Banner said they’re fried. Zapped. Your taste buds are burnt out completely, or very weak.” She shrugs, “Because of the drugs and the electroshock torture.”

He shrugs back at her, pursing his lips as he glances out the window toward the sandy, dry highway, appreciating the direct method she takes. He appreciates that she uses the correct terminology with him, doesn’t try to baby him by avoiding what he already thinks about every day of his life. She doesn’t seem to see him as fragile, knows that he needs the directness.

“Makes sense. They weren’t just fryin’ my brain. It was everything else too.” He looks back at her and keeps eye contact with her this time. “Wasn’t just my mind y’know? Now, here I am, surrounded by food that’s supposed to have so much more flavor than that shit I grew up eatin’. And rations? God, you ever had Army rations? You don’t know bad ‘til you’ve tasted that shit. And apparently everything tastes so good and I can’t taste it. Not really.”

For a moment it’s quite as they look at each other, examine each other. Breaking her gaze away from his Y/N picks up the sugar bowl sitting on the table and reaches out the take his coffee cup away from him. “I already gave you the better cup. Now imagine it with a ton of sugar.” And then she upends the whole bowl into his coffee. She stirs it vigorously as he stares in shock. “There. Now try.”

“With a whole bowl of sugar in it?” To be fair he hadn’t been able taste it before, but the thought of drinking something with that much sugar makes him cringe.

“It’ll taste better than bitter and burnt right?”

“I thought you gave me the better cup?”

She smiles, “Coffee from a diner is always bad. Even if you have the best cup.”

Bucky shakes his head and picks up the cup, a smile twitching on his lips before he takes a sip. She raises her eyebrows as she sips her own coffee, the burnt, black stuff not seeming to affect her. “Good?” She questions.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at her. “Tastes like coffee.” And somehow it really does.

The waitress comes by with their food then, depositing the greasy food with a clatter. Y/N digs in immediately, not even looking up from her eggs as she hands him the salt shaker.

 

~

 

When they leave Y/N tosses the keys at Bucky who catches them with ease. She carries a to-go box, not able to finish all the food she had ordered as Bucky had predicted. They both duck into the car, Y/N turning to put her box on the back seat.

“That was so heavy,” he says, revving the engine of the expensive car they’ve been loaned as Y/N rolls down her window.

She looks over and grins, pressing her sunglasses up her nose. “You loved it,” she accuses as Bucky careens back out onto the highway. The dusty, hot midwestern summer air invading the car.

“Why did you want to stop so badly?” He asks as he shifts gears, Y/N fiddling with the radio.

“Grew up movin’ around,” she says. “The food in those diners taste like home.”

Bucky nods and guns it, Y/N turning up the radio loud as she lets out a little hoot and sticks her hand out the window. She starts singing, loud and unabashed.

The sky is a robin’s egg blue contrasting with the sun parched yellow of the earth. The road seems to go on forever, his foot becoming heavier on the gas pedal and he can’t help but let out a shout of his own, a wide smile on his face.

Y/N stops singing and looks over in shock. When he just grins, hair whipping around his face, Y/N bursts out laughing.

It feels good.

It feels normal.

It feels like life.

He doesn’t ever want to go back to New York. Not with diner pancakes in his belly, an open road in front of him, a powerful car at his disposal, and most of all, Y/N laughing in the seat beside him, pure joy radiating from her.

 

~

 

Later that night he lies in the bed next to Y/N’s, listening to her sing in the shower a room over. As he looks around the room he decides it’s one of the better motels they’ve stayed in. But then again he supposes they’re only a week into their trip.

His mind drifts back to Y/N’s question at the diner.

The twitch of her lips, the apology for her curiosity, her galaxy eyes, all flash through his mind before he hears the echo of her voice again. _So why blue?_

Why blue.

Why had that jacket been blue?

Even though none of the other Commandos had worn regulation uniforms, neither had they worn blatantly obvious colors. Aside from Steve who was a special case himself.

Why had that fucking jacket been blue?

Why had he chosen blue?

He racks his brain but can’t come up with anything. He knows what he might have been thinking at the time but what his actual thought process might have been he can’t say. It seems like an important decision. To choose a color that could get you killed. It’s a hard question, one that makes the inside of his skull itch with uncomfortable, unrecognizable memories, feelings.

The door to the bathroom opens, Y/N wearing only shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Being around Y/N makes everything more confusing but also completely clear and simple. It makes everything easier but also infinitely more complicated.

And when she smiles at him, looking like sunshine itself, something crumbles in his heart. He smiles back and pushes the memory of the jacket away.

“Wanna come with me to the vending machine? For a coke?”

He can only nod and follow when he looks at her summer warm smile. He still wants to kiss her. He still doesn’t know how.

It’s going to be a _very_ , _very_ long summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

They’re somewhere in Iowa, in some small Podunk town, middle America, nowhere, when Bucky emerges from the bathroom of yet another motel. It’s smaller than the other one’s they’ve stayed in, with only one bed. The night air is hot and humid and since they had rolled in late they had gotten the room with the broken air conditioning unit.

Y/N has opened their window and left the door open which he fundamentally disagrees with in every possible way. But he lets it go because the fan is going and the TV is on and Y/N is humming where she sits on the bed. She has one leg bent, foot pressed to the inside of her thigh, the other flat against the bed, as she draws on the smooth skin of her thigh with a sharpie.

Bucky stops toweling off his hair to frown at her, examining the pattern she’s creating for a moment. He’s only in his boxers and somehow neither he nor Y/N are really bothered about it. “What in god’s name are you doing?”

She glances up and then smiles, “Drawing.” She glances back down and Bucky thinks he must imagine the nervous lilt to her voice.

“I can see that.” He had notice the marks on her legs as soon as they started the trip. Of course he had seen the tiny drawings against her skin. Her legs look smooth and impossibly soft and he can’t help but look at them. But he had never actually seen her do it and now he’s wondering when she found the time when they’re constantly together. “But why do you do that?”

The only response he gets is a shrug and so he goes about finding clothes. Searching through his duffle bag he realizes a shirt is missing. Maybe he had left it behind but _remembers_ putting in his duffle. He turns back to Y/N as he shucks on a pair of jeans, aiming to ask her if she’s seen it when the question dies on his lips. She’s wearing it. He hadn’t notice before it seems so natural.

And the heat, the unearned pride, that surges through him threatens to burst his heart. He knows he’s blushing as he turns back to his bag, grabbing the only clean shirt left.

It’s blue.

And he pauses, smile slipping off his lips. Blue has been a hard color lately.

The material slips through his fingers as a heavy sigh leaves his lips.

He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath when he hears Y/N shift on the bed. “Buck? You okay?” Her voice sounds a little distant and Bucky forces himself to pull away from the edge he had been about to plunge over.

Bucky opens his eyes and grabs the shirt, throwing it on without looking at it, before he turns to Y/N. “I’m alright.” She gives him a look that says she doesn’t believe him as he sits next to her on the bed, grabbing his boots to pull on. “I’m going to get us something to eat. What do you feel like?”

“We aren’t going out together?”

He turns to her, a frown pulling at his mouth, as he meets her galaxy eyes. “Thought we’d eat here. Not like there’s much to see.” Disappointment flits through her gaze so quickly he’s sure he imagined it. But then she smiles and it’s like his whole world shatters and then comes together again. She has a heartbreaking smile and he’d gladly have her break his heart every day for the rest of his life if it meant she looked at him like that.

“Nothing to see?” She asks indignantly as he pulls the marker she holds from between her fingers. Uncapping it he begins to draw a slow design onto her thigh, tracing it down to her knee. “I’ll have you know we’re going to see the Grotto of Redemption tomorrow.”

He snorts and looks up to meet her eyes, finding her looking at him with a cocked brow and a serious expression. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“It’s like a religious thing.”

“Are you-,”

“No, but it’s supposed to be really pretty and it’s the only thing in all of Iowa worth seeing so we’re gonna see it.” Her eyes trace over his chest before she looks up into his eyes again. “And I think I should be the one to get dinner. You’re going to frighten the locals lookin’ like that.”

Bucky feigns hurt and asks, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

She leans close to him, until her nose almost touches his. And suddenly he can’t fucking breathe, move, like a deer caught in headlights, at her unexpected but terrifyingly welcome closeness. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that you have a metal arm, _Barnes_.”

“It’s not like you expect me to let you go out alone, _Y/N_.” He counters.

She scoffs and leans away, glancing down to her leg. “And now you’ve gotten sharpie all over the sheet, on _my_ side of the bed.”

Bucky glances down too, noticing the long trail of marker from her knee down her calf a little and onto the bed. He swallows thickly and tries to think of something snappy but all he can think about is how he had just started drawing on her as though it were a natural thing for him to be doing. When she had leaned close to him he had forgotten all about the marker in his hand.

And he’s fucked because if he looks up into those all-knowing eyes of hers he’ll break and he’ll remember how much he wants to kiss her.

How much he wants her to love him, to look at him with even a little romantic affection.

But he has her friendship by some miracle and most days that feels like asking for too much. So when he looks up his expression is carefully controlled. “Sorry. I’ll take the fall at reception in the morning.”

She presses her hand over her heart, “My hero.”

 _If only_.

But even on his best days he’ll never be _that_.

Blue swims in his vision again and he stands, striding across the room to grab his wallet. What is a hero anyways?

His chest is a little tight. _Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue_. Something cracks in the open rural distance of the small town, a firecracker or a gun shot, and he has to force himself not to flinch, every muscle in his body coiled and tight.

“Don’t open the door while I’m gone,” he instructs as Y/N groans and flops back on the bed. “Promise, Y/N.”

“God, I promise.”

“Burger?”

“You know me so well. Chocolate shake too.”

He turns and points at her, “Door closed and locked.”

“Yes, _dad_.”

 

~

 

When Bucky returns Y/N is half asleep, her eyes barely open as she looks at the television. “Didn’t I tell you to keep this door locked?” He asks, propping it open so the cooling night air can circulate into the room.

“No. You said keep it closed.”

“And _locked_.”

“Eh. Nothing happened.”

Bucky shakes his head and sits on the bed next to Y/N, back against the headboard. “Why is it that every person I care about has no sense of self-preservation?”

Y/N sits up beside him, stretching out her marker covered legs, mirroring his pose. “Maybe it’s because you enjoy being a caretaker. You know your people trust you to be there.” He pauses and blinks, brow furrowing as a warm feeling floods him. Y/N takes the burger from his outstretched hand without looking at him, unwrapping it hungrily.

The only response he manages to come up with is, “Don’t therapize me.” He mutters it under his breath but Y/N still laughs and gestures for him to pass her the chocolate shake. “So tomorrow-,”

“We’re going to the Grotto of Redemption.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly is that?”

“Bunch of stones and stuff dedicated to god.”

He pauses, pulling back from the bite of burger he was about to take. “I thought you said you aren’t religious.”

“Oh I’m not. It’s one of the largest collections of gems and stones in the world. And I think stones and gems are pretty neat. Plus it’s the only thing that came up when I googled roadside attractions in Iowa so we’re going.”

Bucky nods and leans back, quietly going about eating his food as Y/N continually fiddles with the remote control.

When it’s been too long, when too much time has passed for it to be casual, Bucky asks, “What do you think about redemption Y/N?”

“You mean what do I think about redemption for you?”

He glances over and finds her sunshine eyes already on him. Nervousness starts to consume him, as it always does when he asks questions like _what do you think about redemption?_ “No. Just generally.”

Her smile disappears and he hates himself a little. “Y’know…I can’t see any of your files or anything. It’s all sealed and I’m not your therapist and I’m not one of those agents. I don’t know what you might have done when you weren’t in control. But I don’t think you need redemption. I think you need forgiveness and understanding of yourself, of both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier. You blame both of them for the things you feel.”

Staring down at the sheets, he chews slowly and thinks, Y/N going back to flipping through TV channels. “What do you mean understanding of myself?” He doesn’t even want to look at the word forgiveness, knows _that’s_ something he’ll never deserve.

She clicks the TV off, a light, eerie glow coming from the old set. He steels himself because he knows she’s about to hit him with the full force of her eyes and every time she does it feels like someone’s stolen his breath.

“Bucky,” she says when she’s turned to him. “Why do you think you need redemption?”

He shakes his head, feeling a bit sick a he wraps up the remains of his food. “Sweetheart, if only you knew the things I have done-,”

“But I don’t. And you didn’t do those things. So tell me what Bucky Barnes needs redemption for.” Her gaze is even and serious and he falls just a little bit more in love. Because she’s everything he’s ever wanted, needed. The only thing he wants to do is make her happy, make her smile, even if sometimes he makes her serious and careful.

He thinks about that blue jacket again. He thinks about the color and the design. He thinks about how a gun feels under his fingers. He thinks about the blood on his face and the dirt in his teeth. He thinks about the cold, all the different kinds of cold, he had been forced to endure over the years. He thinks about the deep forests of Europe and how much he hates the dark.

Biting his lip he reaches over and takes Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently within his flesh one. “For a lot of things,” he says quietly. “For being afraid, I guess.”

“That’s only one thing, Buck,” she says gently, tugging on his hand, anchoring him. “You’ve been wrestling with something the past couple days. You wanna tell me what it is or keep it inside for now?”

He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, relaxing a little. “Inside for now.”

“Okay.”

And that’s it. They sit together in silence for a long while, hands fused together, and Bucky finds he doesn’t mind the low lighting so much or the silence.

 

~

 

“Woah.”

“Holy Cow.”

It’s bigger than it looks it pictures, and impressive. Y/N and Bucky stand looking up at the massive stone structure in awe. “So pretty neat, huh? All these rocks and stuff?”

“Pretty neat,” Bucky agrees, examining the multi-colored surface from behind dark sunglasses, arms crossed over his chest. “So can we go inside it or do we stand out here and admire it?”

She squints and tilts her head to the side, “At the end of the day it’s just bunch of rocks though isn’t it?”

“Now you’re desecrating the church with your slander.”

“Ha ha,” she says sarcastically. “Want me to make an analogy about you and our lord and savior Jesus Christ.”

“No.” He snorts.

“Okay. What about Steve and Jesus?”

He hesitates, “No?” He kinda wants her too. He thinks it’ll be funny.

“You hesitated! That means I’m gonna do it.”

“Go.”

“Rose from the dead.”

“Kinda.”

“Preachy.”

“I can see that.” He turns to her with a small smile, “What about righteous and dedicated to his cause?”

She gasps and presses a hand over her heart, “How dare you, sir? Here I am at this beautiful gem thing to honor-,”

Bucky chuckles but doesn’t let her finish as he reaches out and takes her hand, pulling her toward the archway of the structure. A old man had been giving them admonitory looks, evidently not amused by their antics. “Let’s just look around for a minute, Y/N. What do you know about this place?”

“It’s nine grottos all depicting different things in the life of Christ.”

He nods, not letting go of her hand and hoping she doesn’t notice. “Hence redemption.”

“Right.” Y/N pauses for a moment and reaches out with her other hand to run her fingers over the stone. “Rising from the dead on Easter and all that.”

Bucky squeezes her fingers, just because he can, because he knows he won’t always be able to. Someday someone worthy of her affections will capture her attention and she’ll forget all about this one summer with him. Bucky is quite sure it’s one of the best things to ever happen to him.

For a while they wander around the site, Y/N marveling at all the different stones and gems. Delicately, her fingers slip from between his, she doesn’t exactly pull away but he still feels a small sting of disappointment and rejection. She trails ahead of him, glancing around. He’s never seen such wonder on anyone’s face before, his heart soft in his chest for the woman ahead of him. She glances back at him once, her smile shining like he means something to her. He smiles back and ducks his head, something catching his eye.

Bucky slows and then pauses by a particularly blue patch of stone and gem, let’s his eyes drift over it. Something about the color makes memories swim to the front of his mind now. Ever since Y/N asked about his jacket he hasn’t been able to stem the flow of memories threatening to overcome his mind. “Buck?” Y/N says, making him jump.

She’s right beside him, her eyes on his fingers against the blue stone. Bucky doesn’t remember her moving back to his side. He doesn’t remember moving his hand to rest against the stone. “You okay?” Her voice seems very far away.

“Do you think I’ll have to die again to redeem myself?”

“Bucky?” She asks, alarm in her voice. “Hey, look at me.”

He does slowly, coming back to himself as he shakes his head. “Sorry, Y/N. I spaced out there for a second,” he tries to play off the slip even though he knows Y/N will see right through him.

Y/N looks at him for a moment, a thousand thoughts fliting through her eyes before she reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it away from the stone. His heart jumps, despite knowing she’s only trying to comfort him. Even so her touch is grounding and good as she holds his hand between both of hers. “Bucky. I need you to hear me okay? You don’t need redemption. I think there is something more important at stake. You have nothing to redeem yourself from.”

“But I do,” he says, not sure where the words or thoughts are coming from. “Everyone always talks about when I was the Winter Soldier, and needing to recover from that, from _that_ guilt. But what about before that? I was fucked up before I ever fell off the train.” He shakes his head and pulls away from her, walking back toward the entrance. “I’ve been fucked up forever and there’s no changing that.”

He doesn’t expect her to follow him. He doesn’t expect her to lace her fingers though his again or squeeze his hand tenderly, pulling him to a stop. With her other hand, she reaches up and pulls his sunglasses off. “Do you know what always makes me feel better?”

His throat tightens for no discernable reason as he asks, voice cracking, “What?”

“Ice cream.”

“ _Ice cream_?” Bucky asks, disbelief thick in his voice.

She nods. “C’mon. I saw a place not far from here.”

Y/N drives, calmly shifting gears as she hums under her breath, a gentle smile on her face. The windows are down, blowing warm summer air through the car as the sun lowers itself in the sky in the distance. Corn fields line either side of the road, swaying gently. It would feel peaceful if he didn’t feel so guilty.

She seems at ease but he can tell she’s worried about him by the amount of times she glances over at him. He keeps count of how many times to distract himself from the fact that he’d lost it for a moment in front of Y/N and probably ruined her experience at the Grotto, something she’d been excited to see despite the fact that she’d made fun of it a little. Of course someone with the universe in their eyes would find beauty in the galaxies locked inside gemstones. And all he had seen was the past and a color he no longer understands.

She pulls into the cracking, weed strewn parking lot of a Dairy Queen and tells him to stay by the car before going to the window to order. His heart aches a little, because he never wants to be far from her and she probably needs space from him at the moment after his outburst.

He’s always been so careful around her, tried not to let her see the broken parts of him. But of course she would see the bone deep wounds on this trip. He couldn’t hide it forever, not when they’re constantly together, never apart, a blessing and a curse.

He watches her at the window for a moment, chattering at the boy behind the counter before he gets out of the car and stretches. The sun is sinking lower, orange streaking the sky, even as the day stays hot. Between a crack in the pavement sprouts tiny white flowers. He squats to look at them, wondering if it was an insult to pick them for Y/N. But, she appreciates all life, it seems, even if some people would only count them as weeds, a nuisance.

“Hey!” He turns toward her bright voice. “I got us a banana split to split!” She laughs at her own joke as she takes a bite of chocolate ice cream. They settle on the hood of the car, Y/N handing Bucky a spoon. “Isn’t this fun? Knowing Tony would kill us if he knew we were lying on his nice car?”

Bucky just smiles, “He’d kill _me_. Probably wouldn’t mind you doing it so much. He likes you.”

“Hard to tell sometimes.”

“That’s just his way. A little prickly sometimes. We all like having you around.”

She grins and knocks her shoulder against his, “So I’m not just ‘Steve’s friend’?” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

His heart drops, little did she know she’s _so much more_. “Of course not, Y/N.” It’s quiet for a moment, the crickets starting up, singing along with the night’s cicadas. “Y/N…look, about the Grotto, I-,”

“Sometimes, the past can sneak up on you. Even if you’re looking at it all the time. Whatever you’ve been remembering, it’s okay. It’s okay to look at it and feel something.”

He looks over at Y/N to find her already looking at him, a bit of whipped cream on the end of her nose. “But I can’t remember. I don’t know what it means.”

“Because you aren’t letting yourself remember it. You aren’t letting yourself look at it too closely. And if you aren’t ready that’s fine but you’ll have to eventually. And I’ll be here when you are ready. If you want me to be.”

He swallows and reaches out to wipe the whipped cream from her nose. “The Winter Soldier…that’s easy. But Bucky…he was supposed to be the good one. He’s supposed to be associated with good things and that makes me-,” his breaths become a little hard, fingers shaking.

“It’s okay. He wasn’t perfect. No one is.”

Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath of warm, summer air, coated with the scent of ice cream and flowers picked from between broken slabs of concrete. “Are those for me?”

A genuine grin lights his face as he opens his eyes and meets her happy gaze, her ever-present smile back in place. He tucks them safely inside the little pocket on the front of her shirt and softly says, “Always.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> WARNING: Brief mention of passive suicidal thoughts at the very end.

“Why are you so quiet?”

Y/N looks up and over from the phone in her hands. “What?”

“Why are you so quiet?” Bucky repeats, feeling just a little stupid and desperate. Stupid with love and desperate to hear her voice. “You haven’t said anything in exactly five miles and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I don’t have you to listen to.”

He sounds like an idiot but it’s true, the silence of the car jarring his nerves.

She chuckles and glances back down at her phone, “You could try driving slower than 100 miles per hour, Barnes.”

He lets his foot off the gas a little and huffs out an annoyed breath. “I can’t help the Midwest is flat and all the roads are fuckin’ straight.”

“Fuckin’ Kansas,” she says, shaking her head but smiling widely. Bucky knows if she took her sunglasses off that her eyes would be shining like the sun. “Why don’t you be the chatterbox for once? You’ve gotta have something to say.”

“I hate the plains.”

“Well that’s something, buddy.”

He groans, “What are you doing? You never answered me. Why are you so quiet?”

Shifting, she puts her feet up on the dash and leans her seat back most of the way. The only thing keeping her hair from whipping around her head is a ball cap that she had picked up at the last gas station they stopped at. It says ‘boob police’ on it in bold letters, white against a dark blue. She had tried to get him to buy a matching one but he had adamantly refused. Instead, he had gotten one that had a rooster on it as it was the least offensive of the selection and Y/N insisted he get one. She had handed it to him and said, “Fine then you can have the hat with the cock on it.”

She had laughed so hard she started crying while Bucky awkwardly tried to pay as fast as humanly possible. The burly man at the register had leaned close and said, “I like your girlfriend’s sense of humor.” Which only made him blush and stutter and usher Y/N back to the car as quickly as he could.

Bucky has his on backwards, not wanting to look at the stupid chicken every time he happened to glance at himself in the rearview mirror.

“Someone is grouchy today,” she comments as he glares over at her. “And I know it’s because you haven’t eaten anything in a while but we’ll be there soon and I’m making you something to cheer you up right now!”

His heart jumps a little, first because she noticed his hunger and second because she’s making him something. “What’re ya makin’ doll?”

Y/N only grins and goes back to her phone. “I told ya, Buck. Something to cheer you up. Turn that frown upside down,” she deadpans.

Bucky just groans and stares out the windshield at the endless road, the endless waving grass. He’s never seen so much damn grass. “Do you ever think this country is too big?”

“Easy there, Manifest Destiny.”

“Shut up.”

She sticks one sandaled foot out the window. “Tell me a story, Buck?”

The request takes him by surprise but she’s asked and now he has to deliver. Because he’d gladly do anything she asked. “Are you asking me to be a chatterbox?” He tries to snark, but when she doesn’t answer, he only racks his brain for something to say. “What d’ya wanna hear about, Y/N?”

“Tell me about a girl you liked. Back in the day.”

She’s still fiddling with her phone and doesn’t notice the confused look Bucky cuts her way. “You wanna here about a dame I liked seventy years ago?” He can’t fathom it. He doesn’t want to _ever_ hear about any man Y/N might have liked.

Concerned, she looks up at his tone. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to.” She reaches out and lies her hand against his arm, and between that and her honeyed voice calling him _sweetheart_ , he thinks they’re lucky the car stays on the road. “I just thought…somethin’ good, right? Nice girl. And you, you’re really lovely. Good things.”

He thinks his heart might have stopped beating. _Lovely_. She thinks him lovely. She thinks him _good_.

And he remembers a girl and hears himself start speaking, “There was this girl I liked when I was a kid. I was only eight or so and I thought she was just…so great. Really I think I liked her because she was nice to Steve too and I appreciated that. Not a lot of kids were y’know?” He pauses and clears his throat, “I remember she had pigtails and I remember her being whip smart. Her parents were immigrants, like our families. And poor too. Her ma didn’t speak any English and the old man barely did.” Bucky glances over at Y/N and smiles.

“I thought I would marry her I thought she was so great.”

“What happened?”

“She moved. Then it was always just me and Stevie.”

“Why are you always breaking my heart, Barnes? I’m sitting here in this dumbass hat in the middle of Kansas ready ball my eyes out over you, you know that? You owe me a beer. Or something. I’ll think of something you owe me.”

But she moves her hand to rest over his on the gearshift for a moment. “You aren’t much of a chatterbox, are you?”

“That’s why I got you, Y/N. You fill up all the empty places in my heart.”

“Aren’t you a charmer?”

“Not much else let for me to be.”

In reality he can’t believe he just said that to her. _You fill up all the empty places in my heart._ Could he be any more fucking obvious that he loves her? But she doesn’t seem to think anything of it as she sits up and stares at him, “You are so much more than just a charmer. I’m going to make a list of all the things you are one day. But for now, you’re going to have to settle for _this_.”

She reaches for the radio, clicking it on before connecting the Bluetooth. “I made you a playlist! To cheer you up and distract you from being hungry.”

A song starts playing over the speakers, one Bucky doesn’t recognize, but its upbeat and happy and Y/N starts bopping along immediately.

“Good, right?” She asks.

And with Y/N smiling so widely at him he can only nod. “Just for you,” she says, “I’ll put it on your phone later and you can listen anytime you get sad…or hungry.”

He just chuckles and steps harder on the gas, but his chest is tight. He doesn’t deserve to have someone like Y/N around him. Bucky really isn’t sure why she agreed to come on this trip with him.

 

~

 

Later, checked into a nice hotel instead of their usual dingy motel, Bucky lounges on his bed. He’s waiting for Y/N to finish up changing in the bathroom and thinking about why she might have agreed to come on this trip with him.

Certainly not because she cares about him all that much. She’s Steve’s friend first and his second. Maybe Y/N had only agreed to come with him as some sort of favor to Steve, when Bucky had made it clear that she was the only person he would go with.

Maybe, even more embarrassingly, she felt sorry for him and felt as though she couldn’t say no. Maybe, she doesn’t want to really be there with him at all.

Maybe, worryingly, she was using him as some sort of experiment. Every psychologist in America wanted a shot at picking his psyche. But Y/N has always been kind to him, and so he dismisses the idea immediately. He doesn’t want to dwell on the heartache he would feel if it were true. It would likely break his heart, not that it’s in that great of shape anyways. Most days, his chest just aches, with loss and want and hurt and guilt.

Right when he’s working himself into a full on depressive episode, Y/N emerges from the bathroom wearing a blue t-shirt tucked into a pair of skinny jeans. She bounces on one foot as she pulls on a pair of soft brown desert shoes. Her shirt is almost too blue, too close to a blue he no longer wants to think about. He glances away, staring at the white of their pristine hotel room wall.

When she looks up, both feet firmly back on the floor, she frowns at him in concern. “You alright? You look a little pale.”

“Why did you agree to this trip, Y/N?”

She pauses, slowly hooking her small purse over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I mean- why?”

Y/N tilts her head to the side before walking to the bed and perching next to where he lounges, long legs stretched out in front of him. “Because I thought it was a good idea. I thought you needed it. I thought it could help you and I thought that I could help if you needed it. And…I also needed it. So here we are.” Her smile is light as she lies her hand against his knee and squeezes gently.

“You needed it?”

Her smile falters a little and Bucky hates himself for making it fade. “Yeah,” she says, taking her hand away from his knee. “Just needed away from New York. Y’know…I grew up on the road, moved around a lot. In college and in grad school, I traveled all the time. But when you have a practice, you have to stay put. People need you to be there. And…It’s just been a tough adjustment.”

She glances away and picks at a thread in the comforter. “I like being on the road with you. You’re a good partner to have, and you’ve been doing really well even if you won’t tell me what’s bugging you.”

“How can you tell that?”

A smiles twitches at her lips, “You’re always in your head, digging around, shifting things, never letting the dust settle. It shows on your face. But sometimes you’ll go really still or tune me completely out and I’ll know you’re thinking about it again. Whatever it is.”

He thinks for a second, Y/N watching him carefully. He finds it odd that she can read his facial expressions. The trained therapists, still sort of afraid of him, have a hard time reading him. But Y/N does it with no problem. Maybe he’s more open around her, more comfortable, or maybe she just knows him better.

His gaze falls back to her shirt, very blue. He jerks his chin at her shirt, “You like that color?”

“Blue? Yeah. I find it really calming on most occasions. Why?”

“I hate it, I think,” his voice sounds hollow to his own ears.

When she doesn’t answer immediately he lifts his eyes to hers. “Why?”

He keeps his eyes locked on hers, determinedly not looking at her shirt. “It keeps making me remember when I don’t want to.”

“I thought you wanted to remember everything,” she says, taking his hand between hers.

He swallows hard and strokes his thumb over the back of one of her hands. “I thought I did. I mean, I do. But…this, I don’t understand. It’s-it’s like a middle ground between Bucky and _him_.”

“I imagine, Buck, that you have trauma from the war. Not just your Winter Soldier experiences. You were a regular soldier first, a sergeant, someone responsible for others. I imagine that you suffer from those experiences too.”

She releases his hand then and rubs his forearm gently. “Let’s go to dinner and we can talk more about it okay.”

A reluctant smile pulls at his lips as he reaches out and ruffles her hair a little. “No stupid hats?”

“No stupid hats.”

 

~

 

They don’t make it to the restaurant. They had been about to walk out the door when Y/N had turned back to him and said, “I don’t really feel like going out in public do you?”

And since Bucky never wants to go out in public, not really anyways, he had said, “Hell no.”

So they had ordered room service and then snuck up to the roof of the hotel. Bucky had propped the stairwell door open and now they sit with their backs against the low edge of the roof, not saying anything, just eating. They had ordered hearty, heavy food, indulging themselves more than they maybe should on the trip.

The blanket of peace that settles over him occasionally, does again now. He leans his head back as he closes his eyes, chewing a bite of steak slowly. Wichita isn’t all that big but the sound of traffic below them instead of the deafening silence of the countryside soothes him. It’s more familiar but less intense than the grating sounds of New York.

Y/N is next to him, her thigh pressed against his, as she happily chows down on some macaroni and cheese. A light breeze threads through his hair, ruffling it gently from their place atop the nicest hotel the city offered.

“Did you smoke back in the day?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, used to the random questions she sometimes fielded his way. “Yeah. I did. In the army, though, not so much before.”

“Why not? Didn’t everyone?” He can feel her looking at him, and in turn has to fight the warmth that threatens to fill his chest at her attention. It’s only because she’s listening to him, it’s not as though her eyes are roving over his face, tracing ever line and freckle, like he often did to her when she wasn’t paying attention.

“The smoke nearly killed Steve once and I decided I never would around him. We were at a bar we were too young to be in and everyone was smoking and he started coughin’…I thought it was the end that night.”

“Was he as sick as they say?”

Bucky opens his eyes, stabbing another piece of steak. “Yeah. Worse even. He wouldn’t admit it then and he won’t admit it now.” He shakes his head as he gazes out across the roof. “He’s as hardheaded as a person can be.”

She giggles a little, “Yeah. He can be but he’s a sweetheart.” Bucky doesn’t comment on the fact that Y/N thinks Steve a sweetheart. “Do you know the first time I met Steve he never shut up about you?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she says with a laugh, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I spilled coffee on him. How cliché, right? And he’s such a sweetheart that he bought _me_ a coffee. And we started talkin’ and I’d already put two and two together about who he was when I told him I was a therapist.”

Bucky chuckles, reaching for their plate of mashed potatoes, Y/N already pushing the salt shaker into his hand. “And what happened next?”

“Just started gushin’. Which happens sometimes, occupational hazard. Tellin’ me all about this friend he has that hasn’t adjusted and doesn’t want to talk to his own therapist and is cut off and moody and traumatized and what should he do.”

Bucky leans his head onto the top of hers, potatoes abandoned. “And?”

“I asked if he was a kinda mother hen, a helicopter mom type. And he just sorta spluttered at me. And I said to leave you alone. You’d come around on your own time, that maybe you had a bit of adjusting to do yourself.  You can’t force therapy on people, it just doesn’t work.” She pauses for a second, taking a sip of her drink. “And the next week he was there again, waiting for me. He asked how I knew what to do and I said that I knew exactly what friend he was talking about. And that I was good at my job.”

He nods against her head, “And I did. I…don’t really like being told what to do anymore, outside of missions, that is, where it’s necessary. I like having options because I didn’t for a long time. I didn’t have anything for a long time.” Y/N takes his hand and squeezes it gently, it’s so comforting and soft that he closes his eyes in bliss.

The breeze is warm, the noise of the traffic muted. He’s hyperaware of Y/N’s leg against his, her hand in his, the tears straining the back of his throat. He’s going to cry and he couldn’t honestly explain why. He doesn’t know. And he hates that more than anything, not knowing.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, so as not to reveal the emotions swirling darkly around his heart. “It was blue.”

“What was?”

“That jacket. My uniform. Why was it blue?”

She shifts suddenly away from him before she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about? Or rather trying to stop thinking about?”

“They experimented on me y’know?” He wraps his arms around her waist, not giving a damn for a moment about whether or not he should. The warm summer air has become stifling suddenly, his clothes scratch at his skin, his lungs simply not able to hold oxygen any longer. “That’s how I survived the fall, the train. That’s how I survived all of it, Y/N. All the fuckin’ torture and surgery, I survived it because of whatever shit they injected me with. I wanted to go home after Azzano. I was going to go _home_ but Steve needed me, he asked me, and what was I supposed to say? No? After he-he did _everything_ to get there like a fuckin’ moron?”

He goes silent for a moment and then shakes his head against her, “I was a coward. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go home to Brooklyn. I shoulda been proud to fight, glad to be there. But every time I closed my fuckin’ eyes-,”

Bucky stops, wondering if he’s said too much, frightened Y/N. But she only tugs him closer, lets him bury his face in her neck. “Every time I closed my fuckin’ eyes,” he starts again, “I was back on that table, back in that camp, Zola hovering over me. It didn’t go away then and now, after all the other shit I’ve been through, it’s still the scariest goddamn thing in the world. My worst nightmare is that first time and it wasn’t even the worst thing to happen to me.”

Her fingers are smoothing down his back, “It’s okay to be afraid, Buck.” Her voice is quiet, sorrowful.

“But I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have been then. I wanted to go home. I just want to go home,” his breath catches, lungs aching. Why can’t he go home? Wouldn’t he ever be allowed to? “I didn’t want to do it anymore, Y/N. I didn’t want to keep fighting. And I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

She pulls back then and swipes at his cheeks with her thumbs. “Why did _you_ want to come on this trip?”

The answer is obvious. “I don’t want to do it anymore. And I don’t know how to tell anyone.” She pulls him close, the sun finally starting to set on the horizon, and starts to hum. It’s a gentle tune, a lullaby. He doesn’t say his last, lingering thought. He doesn’t want to frighten Y/N into thinking that’s how he feels now, because he _doesn’t_. Not anymore.

But.

Before.

After Azzano.

He had wanted to go home and home was so far away and everything hurt and his body was no longer his. Something was wrong with him. Something foreign and bad and slimy slinking around in his veins. He never stopped thinking about it, never stopped feeling dirty. And it got so bad, he felt so bad, he wanted to go home so bad, that he hadn’t really cared much to live anymore.

And that is why he can’t think about the color blue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!

“Whose truck is this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N…” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow at her.

She sighs and rolls her eyes, falsely dramatic. “It’s a farmer’s. He lives a couple miles that way,” she waves one hand in a seemingly random direction. “I paid him to let us use it for the night!”

Bucky only stares at her, his gaze flicking back to the old, rusted pickup. The day’s light is fading, shadows chasing out the evening’s last light as they stand in a motel parking lot. Heat still rises from the cracked pavement, a neon sigh buzzing to life behind him. “Why do we need a truck? We have a car.”

She bounces on her toes as she whines in irritation, gesturing wildly at the truck. “Why can’t you just let me surprise you! The truck is necessary, trust me.”

And he does trust her. He trusts her with his being, his soul, his heart, his life. So, he says, “Okay. Where are we going?”

“Nope! You drive. I’ll give you directions.” With that she yanks open the passenger side door, the metal creaking, and jumps inside. Bucky can only sigh heavily and walk around the truck and get in too.

When he twists the key in the ignition he jumps, the truck stuttering and grumbling to life, so unlike the smooth silence of Stark’s borrowed car. Y/N smiles at him, “It sounds like you when I wake you up in the morning.”

She giggles at her own joke as she pulls out a paper map and spreads it over the dash, and Bucky can’t help but chuckle along. The last few days have been hard for him, nightmares plaguing his dreams, keeping him awake at all hours of the night. He knows Y/N knows, she knows when he’s awake and trembling and afraid. But she always waits for him to ask for help, decidedly not invading his space, giving him time to process his emotions on his own.

He appreciates it, the space. He appreciates the fact that she never tries to crowd him, make him talk, force him to emote.

And he appreciates her humor now. He appreciates _her_ , love making his heart swell as he shifts the truck into drive. He loves her, her soft nature, her gentle handing of his mind, so much that his lungs ache, his heart twists.

One hand on the wheel, he uses his other hand to crank down the window, letting in the warm summer air as has become their tradition. “How old is this fuckin’ truck, Y/N? Doesn’t even have power windows.”

“No matter how old it is, it’s still younger than you, old man,” she snarks as she traces one finger over a path on the map, not looking at him. “Turn right.”

Bucky lets the truck drift forward, turning out of the parking lot as Y/N tries to roll down her own window. It gets halfway down before it stops and refuses to budge further. Y/N huffs and crosses her arms, sitting back in her seat. “Stupid truck.”

“Now who wishes we had the car?” he asks with a smirk.

She looks over at him, mock disbelief on her face, “Not me! This truck is infinitely important to me, Barnes. And you’ll see why when we get to where we’re going.”

The fading sun is warm on his skin as Y/N clicks on the radio, fiddling with it until she finds a local station she likes. And even sleep deprived and exhausted as he is, when she looks over and smiles, nose scrunching with happiness, he can’t help but feel lucky, happy, _better_.

His own mouth twitches into a smile as they slowly trundle past fields, waving grain on one side, an open field of strawberries on the other. Somehow, no matter what, almost without trying, Y/N always makes him feel better.

She makes him feel good, whole, like he isn’t the most fucked up person on planet earth.

This is the best summer of his life, and he doesn’t really know what he’s going to do when she leaves him, when the only time he’ll see her is when she stops by to visit Steve and not him. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do without her sunshine smiles and the feeling of _better_ resting in his gut, the taste of freedom and luck and love on his tongue.

The rest of their drive is filled with Y/N chattering about anything that comes to mind, occasional last second directions followed by sharp turns and cursing, and the soft background noise of the radio. Eventually they turn down a dirt road which they follow for a mile or so before a large grassy field filled with cars appears. He smiles and glances at Y/N, “A drive-in theater?” Genuine excitement fills him.

“Yes! One of the last left in the area. I know we watched that movie that had one in it and you looked so amazed so I looked for one.”

Pink tints his cheeks. He hadn’t been aware that Y/N had been watching him so closely that night. She had put on a movie for them both to watch one sleepless night last week. “Movies outside? It can’t get better than that, Y/N.” But his heart is fluttering, pounding, tripping, with wild affection for the woman by his side. She pays attention to him, remembers things that he likes. No one else does, not anymore, not besides Steve.   

The place is a small beacon of light in the sea of darkness the fields have turned into with the setting of the sun. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafts in the open widows along with the sweet, lightning smell of a coming summer rain, soil from the fields, the lavender of Y/N’s perfume. “It’s beautiful here,” he says softly as they pull in behind a line of waiting cars. “And now I see why we need the truck. We’re gonna sit in the back aren’t we?”

“ _We_ are going to make a blanket nest and be _so_ cozy,” she says as she scoots across the bench seat, her thigh pressed against his. “I brought a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and I’m going buy you some popcorn with so much salt and butter that it might kill you. And soda and cotton candy and regular candy. All for you.”

His heart is racing, his eyes locked on hers, their faces nearly touching as she looks at him with affection and tenderness. Her eyes are kind and warm and happy, a look he can’t believe is being directed his way. “Has that been your plan this whole time? To kill me with buttery kindness?”

She nods, still grinning, “I’m trying to kill you with _love_ , Barnes.”

The battered thing in his chest stutters, almost stops, with the word _love_ on her lips, her gaze heavy with affection. He opens his mouth to say something, not entirely sure _what_ , when the car behind them beeps it horn. Bucky jumps, smacking his forehead into hers as she bursts out laughing, pulling away from him.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” he grumbles, reaching up to rub his forehead as they inch along to the entry booth. Y/N only laughs again and hands him some cash from her bag as he greets the teller.

 

~

 

Sitting in the bed of the truck, surrounded by mounds of pillows and soft blankets that Y/N had haphazardly thrown at him, Bucky feels like he could fall asleep. The light chatter and laughter of people in their own cars, mixed with the quiet chirp of crickets in the distance, makes a soothing background noise. Lightning bugs occasionally cast a glow in the wide field in front of him. The night air has a slight cool nip to it and he actually has to cover his legs with one of the many blankets.

He thinks he would have actually fallen asleep already, if it weren’t for the fact that Y/N hasn’t returned from the concession stand yet. Anxiety starts to spike in his blood as he waits. She’s already been gone more than ten minutes.

Glancing at his watch he decides to give her two more minutes before he goes to the concession himself.

The twisting spiral of his thoughts aren’t easy to control however. Anxiety starts to eat at him, the peace of the evening being chased away by his own thoughts. With his heart racing, the knot in his belly tightening, he decides he can’t wait. Two minutes could mean everything, two minutes is life and death. He throws the blanket back and starts to stand when he hears it.

A peal of gentle laughter floats toward him on a light breeze followed by Y/N’s sweet voice chattering at someone. He only relaxes for a second though, sitting bolt upright as she appears with a man. His heart freezes, eyes dropping to the many blankets surrounding him. She’s met someone, which had been bound to happen anyways at some point on their trip. She’s gentle and kind and he’s not surprised to find other people are drawn to her too.

“So where’s your car?” he hears the guy ask.

“Right there.” Bucky knows she’s pointing, so he schools his features into a false smile and glances up. The guy is clearly supposed to be helping her carry all the food she had purchased but when he sees Bucky his smile fades.

“Oh,” he says, voice flat. “I thought you said you were here with a friend?”

She smiles, and it’s so sly that Bucky almost laughs. The corner of his mouth twitches but he manages to keep his expression neutral. “I am! Bucky is my most lovely friend.” Y/N turns to him and winks, tilting her head at the guy a little, eyes widening.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky calls out, voice a low purr, realizing what part she wants him to play. “You get all of it?”

“I did! Mike here was kind enough to help me,” she says, handing Bucky the cotton candy and popcorn over the side of the truck before she turns back to Mike, taking the drinks and packets of sweets from him. “Thanks, Mike! I really appreciate it.”

Mike glances up at Bucky who quicks a brow at the kid. “Yeah, no problem,” he sighs, looking defeated as he turns and trudges away.

Still giggling Y/N climbs onto the bed of the truck, handing him his drink as she settles beside him. “That was a little cruel wasn’t it?” Bucky asks, smiling widely all the same. Because _thank fucking god_ it hadn’t been what he had thought it was.

“No. He was flirting with me and I needed help. And I said I had a friend waiting but he seemed to think I would abandon _you_ for _him_.” She rolls her eyes, “ _Ridiculous_. So I made it sound like we were having a girls’ night and that I _would_ abandon you so he would carry my stuff.”

Bucky chuckles, plucking the bag of popcorn up as Y/N settles a blanket over their laps. “If you would have called I would have come ta help ya, doll.”

“I know. But what of our blankets? What if some hooligans came by and commandeered them? Then where would we be?”

She leans heavily against him as the previews begin, ripping open a package of Swedish Fish. “I think I worried the concession stand workers with all the salt I put on that popcorn. It’s a good thing you can’t get high blood pressure. How does it taste?”

“Tastes like popcorn,” he says softly. “Thanks for doing all this, Y/N. I know you went outta your way and everything.”

“Nonsense,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “Wanted to do this. You’ve had a rough couple of nights, I know. And you don’t want to talk to me, that’s okay. But I had to do something to help a little bit. I see those dark circles under your eyes and it breaks my heart.” She pauses for a moment to dig around in her pocket, not lifting her head from his shoulder. “Which reminds me. I wrote my list! All the things you are besides charming.” She presses it into his hand and before he can think about the implications of such a note he stuffs it into his own pocket, cheeks flaming.

She doesn’t seem to notice the affect she has on him as she shakes her bag of candy fish at him. Bucky takes one, popping it in his mouth. “These taste like plastic,” he comments, the note burning a hole in his pocket.

Y/N gasps and turns her head to look at him, “That’s slander. How dare you, sir?”

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” he says quietly.

It’s warm with Y/N cuddled up against his side, silence falling around them as the movie finally starts, light chatter still scattered here and there. Slowly the popcorn disappears and he starts to feel drowsy in earnest. He wraps his arm around her waist, leaning his head against hers, not caring if he should or not. He loves her and everything feels right in that moment and _he’s so fucking tired_ that he doesn’t care anymore about right and wrong, whether he should or not. So he brushes his mouth against her forehead and lets himself drift into the soft, sleepy plains that are being offered to him.

The leaves on the trees of a nearby grove rustle with the light wind, the voices of the people around them fading into nothingness. He might actually _sleep_ -

“Buck,” Y/N shakes him a little. “Move your head here.” He does as Y/N’s voice says, because she always seems to know what’s best, lying his head in her lap, curling gently around her kindness, warmth that he’s never known before surrounding his heart. It so warm in their nest of blankets, safe and soft, that he feels completely at ease. Y/N is his safe place, but he has that niggling thought again. What will he do without her when the summer is over?

Her fingers brush down his spine, rubbing gently. “Sleep, Buck,” she says, voice quiet and loving. “You need to sleep.” When she drags her fingers through his hair he swears he’s in heaven.

He reaches out and tangles his fingers with hers, deciding that if he only has the summer with her he’ll hold her hand as long as she allows, enjoy her fingers tugging at his hair, massaging his spine. Bucky holds her hand against her knee, his head pillowed on her thighs as the movie plays in the background, the light conversation continues, the trees rustle, the crickets chirp, and Y/N starts to hum.

She rubs at his wrist lightly, the light breeze cool against his face.  

He loves her so much it hurts, sears his skin, eats at his lungs, strangles his heart. Bucky never wants to move and as he falls asleep he doesn’t catch the words drifting from Y/N’s mouth, landing in a soft pile on the blanket.

Whatever it is, it’s followed by a gentle kiss to his temple, unconsciousness following right after.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!

The first thing he feels is the bone deep cold of winter.   

The next is the whipping of the wind against his face, white hot snowflakes burning his skin. He’s looking down a mountain, into a ravine, swirling snow obscuring his view. Train tracks run along the side of the cliff face opposite him.

He trembles, glancing down at the snow under his boots. It’s pristinely white, _too white_ , _falsely white_ , even though it’s trampled down, the prints of many boots having crushed it down. Was he pacing? Maybe he had been pacing. 

All he knows is that everything is already too much. He can’t get away from it, the snow and the ice and the cold and the blank white nothingness. He wants to go home and the wind is howling, screaming, ripping at his ears.

And everything is too fucking bright, so white. He can’t even close his eyes to it because it’s _still there_ , the light, the colorlessness, seared to the inside of his eyelids.  

The wind is so loud that he can’t hear anything else, he doesn’t know anything else but the violent wind and biting cold. He glances up, across the ravine, at the tracks. He doesn’t notice the wire above him at first, trembling on the harsh wind. But when he glances up at the white sky, he catches sight of it, fear freezing his heart, tearing a path along his veins.

He can’t move, his bones locked together, frozen, _not his_.

This, _this_ , is the beginning of the end.

He wants to cry, scream. The cable means the _end_ , he’s sure of it. It looks so flimsy anyways, like as soon as he puts any weight on it, it’ll snap and he’ll plunge to his death. And that’s what he’s really scared of, isn’t it? _Falling_.

He’s going to fall and no one will be there to catch him.

No one has ever been there.

It’s then that he hears someone calling his name in the distance, the echoing voice coming closer and closer _and closer and he can’t turn around because it can’t be real_ and then, “Bucky?”

Turning, he finds Y/N starting at him, concern etched over her face. “Are you okay?” Her fingers are hooked in the strap of the sniper rifle over her shoulder, lips twisted downward with worry as she tilts her head to the side. She’s wearing his uniform, the coat and pants cut to fit her frame, boots laced up her calves. “Buck?”

Frost shivers out of his mouth with every breath, but Y/N seems not to feel the cold.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he says as she comes closer, over the pace trampled ice, snow crunching underfoot. He grabs her arm when she peers over the cliff in what seems like mild curiosity, jerking her sharply away from the edge. “Why are you wearing that? Y/N? You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home.” But where is home? _Where is home? Where is home? Where is_ his _home?_ He pauses, swallowing harshly, not letting go of her arm, afraid she might disappear if he does. And he does _not_ want to be alone. _Not again_. He won’t survive it again, the lonely cold. He’ll die if he has to be alone again.

She blinks slowly at him, her eyes flicking over his chest, “Because you aren’t. You aren’t wearing it.” The smile she gives him is weak, cautious, fearful. “You didn’t put it on and someone has to wear it. This is war. Someone has to fight it.”

He glances down to find himself in stiff black leather, combat pants. His breath catches. His heart stalls. Her voice is calm and smooth, like it always is, but missing is the sunshine, the optimism. She jerks her chin at the train tracks, “Do you know what happens?”

“No.”

“I do. I can tell you what happens. I can tell you things will be okay, in time.”

Bucky glances back at the shaking cable. He can’t really imagine how it would be okay. “Tell me,” he says, because Y/N has never led him astray before.

She nods, takes one of his hands in hers. It’s only when he realizes that he can’t feel her touch that he notices the metal arm. A tear tracks down his cheek, hot against his frozen skin. He knows what happens but he needs to hear it. Knowing will make the pain more manageable, bearable. He’ll only have to wait until the end, the end of the pain, the torture, the mutilation and distortion of his body and soul and heart.

“Don’t cry,” she murmurs. “I told you. Everything will be okay, with time.” He nods, believing her. “You and those fellows there,” she turns and points, the thick snow clearing, whipping away from her hand, to reveal the Howlies laughing and joking, preparing for the mission. Bucky lets his eyes linger for a moment before he allows Y/N to turn his attention back to the mountains, the train tracks. “You all will use that cable to drop onto a train. Inside the train is Zola. You’ll think you’ll die falling, on the way to the train. You’re sure this cable will break. It won’t. You’ll make it to the train safely and you’ll fight but you’ll fall anyways.”

“Once you’re on the train you’ll think you’re safe from falling, you expect to be killed any other way. You’ll have the thought ‘at least I won’t die plunging to my death’.” She turns, eyes sorrowful and affectionate as she gazes at him. “But you will. You will fall.”

She swipes away a tear from his cheek before she tucks a few strands of long hair behind his ear. “You’ll be shot at on the train, a bullet will graze right here-,” Y/N reaches up and traces a line against her own bicep. “It won’t even make it through the coat and you’ll think for a second about telling Steve how close you had been to getting shot in the arm.”

He nods, leaning his head into the hand still against his face. “You’ll run out of bullets in one gun but Steve will give you another. You’ll pick up the shield when he drops it. And the next thing you know you’ll be looking into your best friend’s eyes as cold metal snap off the side of a speeding train. You’ll think its burning you, it’s that cold.” Her voice is like a trance, lulling him, soothing him gently for what’s to come. Her voice is soft but it’s louder and far more important than the screaming of the wind, the howling of his soul. “You’ll think that it makes sense. That you should fall for touching the shield. Because Steve is the light and you are the darkness, isn’t that what you’ve always believed? You didn’t deserve to pick it up.”

“It’s true,” he whispers, voice strained, as another tear rolls down his cheek. “There’s something dark inside me. They put it there.”

She hooks her fingers into the straps of the leather vest and jerks him close, “Who?”

“Hydra.” She nods and releases him, adjusting the rifle on her shoulder.

A sigh leaves her parted lip as she glances behind her, “We’re almost out of time, Soldier.”

He cringes, “Please don’t call me that.” Y/N has never called him soldier, not once. She knows he hates it, and coming from her sweet lips the name is a thousand times worse. “It’s Bucky.”

“Is it?” She tilts her head to the side. “Then why are you dressed as the solider?”

Fury suddenly grips him and he stalks forward a few paces until there’s no space between them, their chests touching. She doesn’t flinch or back away, only watches him with calm eyes. “Because I was already the soldier by the time I got to the train. They had already taken from me, tortured me, injected me with shit and slim and the fuckin’ serum. I was already _him_ by the time I got here. I was so pissed off all the time. I was angry. I _am_ angry. And I’m…I’m so fuckin’ scared.” He glances back at the cliff, no longer visible, all the fight going out of his voice. It’s as though he and Y/N have been enclosed together in the inside of the blizzard. She’s the only thing he can see, she’s the only thing that isn’t colorless and blank. “I’ve been so afraid for so long. And I-I don’t want to have to do it all again. I did all of it alone. The serum, the pain, the torture. I did all of it alone.”

“Bucky.”

He turns his eyes back to her, gaze flicking over her face.

“When you hit the ground you’ll pass out. But when you wake you’ll think for a moment that you’ve died. Everything will be white and you won’t feel any pain. But then a soldier will come and you’ll be grateful, for a moment, because the Russians are supposed to be your allies and there’s no way Steve can pull you back into the war with a missing arm.”

A tear tracks down her cheek then and a deep hatred for himself burns his lungs. Y/N is crying and it’s because of him. Her pain is his fault. “You’ll be gone for seventy years but then you’ll come home and I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll find each other in New York, through Steve, and we’ll go on a road trip.” She touches his cheek again, “So you can tell me…why blue?”

He ignores her question, a panic welling up in him at the mention of the color. “Will Steve make it? And the others?”

“Long, happy lives. Nothing to worry about.” She takes his flesh hand and holds it tightly in hers. “You must think about blue.” Y/N’s other hand comes up to poke at his chest, Bucky suddenly in the old blue and brown uniform again. “It’s important, James Barnes.” Her fingers trail up his chest and brush through his short hair. “It’s very important.” With that she leans in and kisses him, the snow around them falling immediately to the ground, silence ringing free and loud, the wind finally quiet. Her lips are warm against the frost of his own, her hand soft against his jaw.

His heart soars. Y/N is kissing _him_.

And right when he thinks it can last forever, that he might deserve it, that she might want him, the cliff’s edge falls away and he plunges downwards.

He’s never really stopped falling.

Has he?

 

~

 

With a tight gasp of breath, his heart pounding, mouth dry, Bucky sits bolt upright in bed. Darkness presses in all around him, caging him in, silencing him, confining him to silence and compliance. There’s something tangled around his waist, his legs.

He can’t fucking move, and if something happens in the dark then he’s shit out of luck. Scrambling, panicking, ripping the sheet in his hands, he falls out of bed, immediately scrambling up from the floor.

He can’t breathe, his lungs seem to reject the air that his mind so desperately needs. If only he could fucking _think_. If only he could _breathe_. He backs himself into the wall opposite his bed, legs trembling, heart racing, lungs spluttering, when something moves.

Freezing, he waits, wondering what threat the darkness has in store for him now. The bedside lamp clicks on suddenly, the low light revealing a squinty-eyed Y/N. The golden glow from the lamp gives her an angel’s halo as she rubs one fist on her eye. “Buck?” She asks, her voice graveled and low and so soft it melts his heart. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a hard breath, everything starting to slow, exhaustion overcoming him as the adrenaline washes away. “Everything,” he whispers, not meeting her eyes.

“Nightmare?”

Bucky isn’t sure but he nods anyways, not knowing what else to call it. “I’m okay.”

“You aren’t,” she says, holding out her arms. “C’mere Barnes. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Y/N, he knows, would rather die that hurt anyone, even him. He considers letting her hug him, comfort him, but holds back, pressing himself harder into the wall behind himself. Silence falls.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly as they stare at each other. Y/N moves, the sheets shifting against each other as a car drives by outside, the slow putter of an old vehicle, headlights flashing.

Silence is never just silence. And this quiet is no different. A dog barks, the light buzzes with electricity, and Bucky is hyperaware of every sound and movement, of his clothes against his skin. If it weren’t for Y/N across from him and her calming gaze, he probably would have ripped them off.

He probably would have rushed to the bathroom, cowered in the tub under an ice-cold spray, and waited for everything to stop being so _fucking loud and quiet and everything and nothing_ , all at the same time.

Instead, his breathing slowly calms and Y/N doesn’t lower her arms. Eventually he relaxes enough to walk around the bed, lie down next to her.

A spring in  the bed pokes him in the back as he lies stiffly next to her. She presses the back of her hand against his cheek and hisses, “Bucky! You’re freezin’ to death!”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says lowly as she tucks the duvet around him.

There’s a stain on the ceiling, the fan rotating slowly over it, the blades obscuring the greenish color every so often. “ _Sorry_ ,” she says, clucking her tongue as she continues tucking the blanket around him. “For god’s sake, Buck. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare say sorry.” She leans over him, sitting beside him cross-legged. Y/N runs one hand over his forehead and through his hair.

The contact is so soft that tears strain his eyes. He swallows harshly and lets Y/N continue to stroke his hair, trying not to look at her lips, trying not to think about how real his dream had felt.

And, he supposes, in a way, it was real. It’s all happened before. He turns on his side, burying his face into her hip. “I want to talk about it, Y/N.”

“Okay,” she says, not sounding surprised at all though he knows she must be. “Tell me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, listening to the rattling of the air-conditioning unit. Warmth radiates from Y/N in waves and he finds it absolutely addicting. She’s so warm in so many ways, and soft, and good. Instead of talking he just stays pressed against her side, letting himself enjoy her careful hands in his hair.

“Will you tell me?”

He only sighs, losing his nerve. “In the morning.”

He knows she’s nodding, feels her scoot down in bed. “Roll over.”

With his back to her chest, she buries her face between his shoulder blades and curls her arms around his middle.

“Everything is okay.”

And he believes her, because Y/N has never led him astray before, and in that moment he feels the safest he’s _ever_ felt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading!

“Morning, Buck,” Y/N says when he finds her in the field behind the motel. The sun is just starting to rise, golden light filtering over the earth. She doesn’t turn, only stares out over the horizon, bare legs covered in little doodles.

The long grass brushes at her knees as it waves in the warm, early morning breeze. Leaves rustle on the trees gently, birds beginning to sing softly. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says quietly, trying not to disturb her peace.

Y/N takes a deep breath, sighing deeply. “Why do people ever stay in one place? When they could move around forever and never see the sun set in the same place twice?”

He smiles and presses the mug of coffee he holds into her bicep. “Coffee. Then philosophical questions.”

Fingers grasping the mug she turns to look at him. “Thanks, Buck.” She squints at him, and then smiles, “Hair’s gettin’ a little long isn’t it?” Her eyes are soft, sleep still holding territory in her gaze.

Shrugging, he takes a sip of his coffee, mouth twisting downwards in a slight grimace. “I think I like it. I don’t mind it, at least. Can put it up better.”

“Good.” She gives a decisive nod of her head and takes a long swallow of her coffee. “I like it too, truth be told. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that _you_ like it.”

Silence falls then as the sun slowly rises over the treetops in the distance where their gazes are focused. The morning light is soft, easing the sharp edges of the world around them. He feels good, safe, and he finds he wants to hold Y/N’s hand. To slot his fingers through hers, feel the warmth of her skin against his. Since his snowy nightmare two days ago they’ve slept in the same bed. And Bucky, like the idiot he is, has become addicted to her warm skin, her soft touch. It’s hard to keep himself from reaching out through the morning air to take her hand.

Instead of spilling the tender parts of his heart at her feet, he clears his throat and pushes away his need. “You were gone when I woke up,” Bucky says slowly, attempting nonchalance.

“Did I frighten you?” Her sunshine, all-knowing eyes turn to bore into his. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see the sun.”

He bites his lip as he looks at her, at the shape of her face, the slope of her nose, the twist of her lips, the exact way her hair falls. He wonders why anyone in the world bothered looking at the sun, when the sun shining on Y/N, illuminating everything beautiful and good about her, was enough to steal and break every person’s heart. “I know you had to come out and meet the sun. You two have to chat sometimes, I know that.”

Y/N gives him a confused smile, head tilting to the side as her brows furrow. But there’s laughter in her eyes and sunshine in her hair and the smell of lavender on the breeze and he thought he couldn’t fall in love any more than he already is but he _does_. “You’re an odd one, Barnes,” she murmurs. “But I like that about you. It’s like you’re the only person who’s ever understood me.”

He heart bangs at his chest, claws, tears, seeking desperately to be closer to hers, a wild hope that she might house his heart next to hers running though his veins. But he knows she’s going to say more, a distant look drifting into her eyes that means _listen don’t speak_. She’s about to reveal to him a piece of her soul, her person. And he can’t miss it, he won’t. It’s too important.

Her smile falls away as she looks back at the sun, “I took a road trip in college with this guy I was dating. It went okay for a week or so. But then he started to get irritated with me. With my habits. He didn’t think buying stupid tourist stuff or trashy gas station novelties was funny and quirky, he thought it unrefined. He thought it said something about _me_ , that I found comfort in those things. He hated that I would get up before him just to see the sunrise, or watch the townspeople set up the farmer’s market, or walk through apple orchards alone. When I said _come with me_ he said no that’s not what this trip was supposed to be.”

She swallows and sips her coffee slowly before continuing, both hands cupped around the mug as she holds it to her chest, “I asked what he meant. And he told me I never looked at him. I was always looking at something else, someone else. And I said of course. There’s so much to look at.” She turns her gaze on Bucky, “He didn’t like that. We broke up a week later.” Her smile returns then, a quick quirk of her lips. “You never complain. You let me do what I please and I really appreciate that.”

“Well,” he says, wind ruffling her hair, peace settling around his heart. “I know when you look at me, it must be important. You only look at what’s important.” Before she can comment on that, heart in his throat, he continues, “And I…don’t like people telling me what to do anymore. So, I won’t tell you what to do.”

The fingers of her hand not occupied by the coffee cup, wrap around his own, “You’re a man after my heart, Bucky Barnes.”

He closes his eyes, drinking in the feeling of her hand against his, the warm breath of wind on his face. He _is_ a man after her heart, it’s just too bad he’ll never capture it. She’s so kind to him that somedays he can’t swallow the kindness, can’t even fathom it.

The sun has fully risen when he opens his eyes again. Y/N has a distant look on her face, a quiet contemplation. “Are you ready for breakfast?” He asks, her hand still in his.

She looks over, her smile easy, tender, “Yes.”

When she doesn’t pull her hand away, the already wild flutter of his heart turns to a full on gallop. They walk through the long grass, hand in hand, back to the motel at the edge of a cracked, deserted road. “We should probably eat real food today, Buck,” Y/N says as he fiddles in his pocket for their room key, her fingers still twisted around his. “I don’t think soda and snacks from the vending machine are going to cut it today.”

After that dream, the one with _snow and ice and fear and memories and Y/N and blue,_ he had been out of sorts. Y/N suggested they stay for a few days longer at the dingy motel, just relaxing. He still hasn’t told her about the dream, instead he let himself enjoy Y/N’s contact, her presence.

They’ve shared a bed the last two nights, Bucky securely wrapped around Y/N. He’s surprised at how much it helps, having Y/N beside him, her fingers lightly against his skin.

But even as much as he enjoys Y/N’s presence, her constant attention, he knows they have to get out of the motel, move on, at least to get real breakfast. He had went on a long run the night before, his legs restless and stiff with inactivity. When he had gotten back, Y/N had been asleep, curled on her side on what had become his side of the bed. She had been a picture of peacefulness that he would do anything to see every day of his life.

He can’t help but feel, though, that as soon as the summer’s over she’ll disappear. Another grand adventure will present itself to her and he suddenly won’t matter anymore.

“We’ll stay here one more night,” Y/N says, brushing past Bucky when he finally gets the door unlocked. “And then tomorrow we’ll move on. The Grand Canyon is on our list and I’ll be damned if we don’t get to look at that glorified hole in the ground.”

Bucky is still standing in the doorway, watching her flit around the room, discarding their trash, picking up various items that had somehow all gotten out of place. She stops moving suddenly, her smile just a little embarrassed as she straightens and clutches a spare shirt against her chest. “What? Bucky, you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?”

The love he feels for her, the deep rooted affection, must be written on his face, displayed in the lines of his body. But Y/N just looks at him with confusion and he knows that at the end of the summer she’ll go back to her life with ease, but the tendrils of love that have wrapped fully around his heart will tear the thing right out of his chest the second she walks away.

Maybe if he tells her, she’ll stay, she’ll love him back. The admission is right on the tip of his tongue. He wants her. He wants this girl who gets up even earlier than Steve, or sleeps later than any teenager, with no in-between. He wants this girl who’s a person of extremes, who has wild laughter and sunshine eyes. He wants this girl who will drop everything to go on a road trip with no warning. He wants this girl who seems to understand everything he says and does so with no explanation on his part, who seems to glance at him and see the very interior of his soul, the hidden depths that no other person has ever seen.

“Y/N,” he starts, voice trembling, his world shaking.

She smiles and his heart stalls and he opens his mouth to say the words when-

The phone rings. He cringes hard, the illusion, the moment, shattering before his very eyes. She turns away, scooping up her cell phone. Her mouth quirks, lightning in her gaze, as she swipes her finger over the screen. “Hey, Stevie!”

He closes the door, realizing he’s been standing in the open doorway for much too long, probably looking like a complete fool, mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. And now Steve is on the phone. And he knows there’s nothing between them but Steve’s still stolen her attention, robbed him of his moment even if he’s a bit grateful that he has.

A disaster has probably just been averted by Steve’s untimely call.

She would have been kind, but ultimately, she could never want him as he wants her. Bucky could never match her fearless, untamed soul. He’ll never have sunshine in his gaze. He’ll always have a dim soul, a broken heart, and a downtrodden spirit, and Y/N deserves better than brokenness.

“You were going to say something.”

She’s hung up the phone. She’s staring at him again, the lightning in her eyes turning to concern again.

Bucky smiles at her. “It’s nothing. I don’t remember.”

She nods.

She turns away.

 

~

 

“Good morning!”

The middle aged woman at the motel’s front desk doesn’t seem impressed with Y/N’s cheerfulness. She chews her gum slowly, gaze tired and underwhelmed. Her lips are wet with saliva, her face lined far beyond her years. Her shirt is old and stained, a faded robin’s egg blue. “Can I help you two with somethin’?” She asks, voice a slow drawl. “Or do you just want another night? Because at the rate you’re goin’ I’m just gonna haveta buy new sheets. They’ve gotta be ruined by now.”

Bucky feels heat flood his cheeks, his heart doing a flip in his chest as he tries not to look at Y/N. He knows she’s grinning like the Cheshire cat, her smile only having grown at the woman’s implication.

The interior of the lobby looks as though it hasn’t changed since the 1970’s, ugly shades of green, orange and brown coating nearly everything. A ceiling fan rotates lazily overhead, wobbling dangerously, only stirring the hot air of the lobby, doing little to cool the stuffy room. A cat suddenly jumps up on the counter, giving a loud meow. Y/N only smiles. “We do want another night,” Y/N says as the woman scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Y’all should just go home and fuck each other there. Fuckin’ in a motel might give you a thrill but it’s a damn mess to clean up.”

Y/N doesn’t seem shocked, only loops her arm through Bucky’s, leans her head against his shoulder, and says, “Fuckin’ in motels makes us feel just a little bit dirty.”

The woman rolls her eyes, “You know we aren’t responsible for anything you catch from each other?” Her hand goes to her hip as she leans on the counter, but the receptionist is smiling now. Y/N has somehow won her over, as she seems to win everyone over, with a wide smile and a few well-chosen words. “I used to do the same thing with my man. Drive around the country and go at it anywhere we could.”

“Well what is a road trip for if not for that?”

She chuckles and pencils them into the log for another night. “Could I ask one more question?” Y/N says as Bucky tries to control the blush that has surely coated every inch of his body. “Where is best place for breakfast?”

“Ernie’s, five miles west of here. Tiny, shit-hole, lookin’ place. But you’ll never find better coffee.”

“Thank you, ma’am, you have been a real wonder to us this morning.”

“I bet you’ve been a real wonder to each other,” she winks at them as Y/N pulls Bucky away from the counter and out the front doors.

It’s silent as they walk to the car and climb in. He twists the key in the ignition but doesn’t shift the car into drive, instead sitting back in his seat as Y/N rolls down her window and shoves a pair of sunglasses onto her face. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Win everyone over so easily? Blend in like you’ve always just been standing in that lobby chatting with that woman?”

Y/N turns to look at him, mouth twitching with amusement. “It’s fun. I like to make people happy. Y’know, I don’t mind not being liked. But…seeing a woman like that? She’s got a hard life. Running a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere, her shirt is as old as she is, that cat is her only friend. She doesn’t get a lot of credit, a lot of thanks for her job. But she saw herself in me and you for a second, she liked talking to a customer for a second, she remembered a good time and she smiled. So, it’s fun to make them happy for a moment.”

“You’re an angel, do you know that Y/N?”

She leans in, her face suddenly serious, “I like making you happy the most.”

Swallowing thickly, he shifts the car into drive, trying not to let his heart fall out of his mouth. Y/N leans back into her seat, giggling a little. “So _do_ I make you happy, Buck?”

He knows she’s joking.

Bucky still answers.

“More than you’ll ever know, doll.”

 

~

 

They stay out most of the day, eating pancakes at Ernie’s before walking along a trail behind the restaurant.

She holds his hand sometimes, other times she runs into the fields on either side of the path, through the hot sun, looking as free as a bird. But she always comes back to him, chattering wildly about one thing or the other.

He appreciates it, the distraction of her voice, her chipper thoughts, her sunshine smile, always keeping him away from the abyss of his mind. And he knows she does it on purpose, that he’s being closely watched, examined, that she’s waiting for him to come to her of his own accord and tell her about the dream.

It’s only late that night, when Y/N’s face is tucked into his shoulder, her breaths starting to even, that he says, “I want to talk about it, Y/N.” They’re in the same bed again, tucked together against the cold of the air conditioning that only seems to have one setting. One of Y/N’s legs is thrown over one of his, her arm slung over his stomach, he begins to tell her about the dream, not even sure if she’s still awake. He gets through most of it fine, he tells himself. Y/N, he thinks, can’t hear the awful cracking in his voice, the tremble, the hard emotion.

He does _fine_ , he knows he does, until he gets to the end. What would she make of a dream in which she kisses him? Probably not much, being a psychologist, and he doesn’t know what’s worse honestly. But it’s warm under the blankets and Y/N hasn’t moved. She’s still listening, waiting patiently for him to continue, her fingers stroking gently over his clothed chest.

“And then you kissed me and I fell. I’ve never stopped falling.”

“Did you do as I said?” She asks, her voice sleepy. “Did you think about blue?”

“I did, sweetheart,” he murmurs, both relieved and infinitely disappointed that she makes no comment about the kiss. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

She nestles her head further into his shoulder, murmuring a gentle apology. “And have you cracked it? Did you figure out why you picked blue?”

He shakes his head, “It makes me remember things I don’t want to. Bad things about…about before the fall. Shouldn’t have felt what I did y’know?” Y/N snuggles closer to him, entrenching herself further into his heart, his soul.

“Did you ever read my note?”

His cheeks color a little as he admits that he hasn’t. “No, I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You should,” she murmurs. “You should read it because I think there are things in there that you need to read. I don’t think you’re struggling so much with blue. I think you’re struggling with a sense of home too. You don’t know how to go home, you don’t know where home is. Blue is the key. You have to think about blue, Bucky.”

He closes his eyes, not wanting to say more for the moment. Silence rings around the stale air of their room, Y/N’s warm breath fanning across his collarbone. Her breathing evens out, slowing, deepening, until he thinks she must be asleep, until he thinks it must be safe for him to brush his mouth over her forehead, trail his fingers down her spine. Until he thinks it’s safe for him to think about how Y/N doesn’t realize, for all her credentials and intellect, that he’s already found a home, a home with her, and that blue means something else entirely.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words slipping softly out of his mouth to circle her head, warm and content and safe and _true_.

What he doesn’t expect is for Y/N to stir, her fingers to dig into his chest a little, and for her sleepy voice to murmur, “Do you mean that?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated! Let me know what you think!

**Three days Later**

“Do you think it’s a coincidence that you were born two days after the Russian Revolution began?”

Bucky flips down the top half of his newspaper to glare at her. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that something happened the year you were born?” He asks, sarcasm coating his voice.

She pouts, “You’re such a grumpy old man, do you know that? _And_ you don’t know what year I was born.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes the paper out, folding it up as the waitress arrives with their coffees. “Yes, I do,” Bucky says, grabbing the sugar shaker, tilting it over the steaming cup. Y/N, as usual, drinks hers bitter and black. When he kisses her later maybe he’ll be able to taste a little of the bitterness through the sweetness of her kiss.

“Does it feel like all we do is eat?” She says, her eyes on him, never wavering, never darting away. “We’re always at diners, staring at each other, having deep conversations about our existence. But most of all, we’re always eating.” Her smile is light, airy, a breath of freshness in the heavy hotness of the oily air of the crowded diner.

He nods, mirroring her grin as he reaches across the table to take one of her hands. “That’s alright, Y/N. I like goin’ out with you. Even if it’s always to greasy diners and strange landmarks.”

“You love greasy diners,” she accuses, a wild glint in her eyes.

“I do,” he says softly, stirring his coffee slowly, glancing away from the warmth in her eyes down to the speckled blue linoleum of their table. A tiny smile fights its way onto his face, the blue of the tabletop not bothering him at the moment. “They’re your favorite places so they’re my favorite places.”

The smile that he catches from her when he looks up makes his heart jump. He doesn’t deserve that smile, he doesn’t deserve to have its sunshine warmth directed at him. “Do you have a favorite place?”

Bucky tracks his thumb over the back of her hand, over her soft, precious skin, unable to look away from her eyes. The sun is high in the sky over the restaurant they’ve stopped in, just a few hours away from the Grand Canyon.

It’s been three days since he admitted his love for her. It’s been three blissful, happy days. He had been happy with her before, grateful to go on a road trip with her, spend time with her, even if it was only as friends. Even if he would _only_ ever be her friend. Being her friend is more than he deserves most days, and yet she’s decided to accept _more_ from him.

They’re more than friends now, even if he’s not quite sure _what_ they are.

All he know is that sometimes jokes are accompanied by kisses. Hugs, tight and long, fingers massaging his spine, have become regular. She never pulls her hand away from his, instead always leaves it tucked securely inside her own. It doesn’t matter how many beds their motel rooms have now, they share, tucked tightly against each other, fingers twinned together, breath mixing in the space between their bodies, light kisses interrupted by giggles.

He’s _happy_. He thinks this is what happiness might feel like, in all of its kind fullness, and not in half remembered haziness.

“Brooklyn,” he says, hearty laughter sounding from the truckers a few tables over as something clatters to the floor in the kitchen, curses sounding soon after. A waitress laughs at someone’s joke at the bar as the front door opens and closes, more people entering the diner, lively chatter surrounding them on all sides. The din of diners is starting to feel a little bit like home as Bucky starts to understand why Y/N likes them so much, the noise and usual cast of characters familiar and welcome, comforting. 

“It used to be Brooklyn,” he says suddenly. “It was the only place I ever wanted to be. Especially once I got to Europe, to the war. I thought I’d stay there my whole life and then my number came up and…I had to leave. And I never really came back.”

Her smile fades a little as looks at him from over the rim of her coffee cup, sympathy lying in the sunlight of her gaze. “And now? Still Brooklyn?” Her voice is soft, kind.

“No,” he squeezes her other hand, the one still under his. “I don’t really want to go back to New York. It’s not the same, y’know? It’s not mine anymore.”

The bell above the door chimes as she holds his gaze, a small crease appearing between her brows, hot desert air billowing into the already stifling diner. A bead of sweat drips down Y/N’s temple, the air conditioning in the small place broken, apparently not deterring the locals from packing in as many people as the diner could hold. She looks at him with gentleness in her gaze, scanning him, examining him, and Bucky doesn’t mind. Her stare is concerned, loving, not at all harsh or plotting, which is what he expects from everyone else’s eyes.

He feels breathless, anxious, elated, all at once, all because of her, even when she looks at him with such concern. Love leashes his lungs, makes it hard to breathe, and he wonders why affection has to feels so weighty, heavy, like its sitting on his chest. It’s a good weight, though, one he’ll always gladly bare for Y/N.

But he still worries as she drags her fingers away from his to reach for a menu, that it’s all temporary for her. They aren’t even halfway through the summer and he’s already worried about the end of their road trip, worried about when they go home, back to reality. Will she feel differently then? Trapped back in the stifling city of painful reality? Will she still want him? Will she still want him on his bad days, when New York became an even bleaker conglomerate of steel and concrete, rainwater and dirt?

She opens her mouth to ask something and he’s almost sure he knows what she’s going to say. _Well then where is your favorite place? What is it now?_ And he can’t very well say _wherever you are_. Because that’s too much, too fast, too _everything_ , even if its fucking true.

So, he cuts her off and asks, “Why _do_ you like diners so much?”

She jolts, evidently not expecting the question, her fingers drumming against the table nervously. “Things don’t change at diners. They’re pretty much the same anywhere you go,” she says, her voice suddenly sad, desolate, her smile disappearing. She sits back in her seat, glancing around, a look he’s never seen drawing her face closed to him.

She takes a deep, shuttering breath, sniffling a little.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to her, swallowing harshly when she moves her hand out of his reach. Clearly he had accidentally struck some unknown nerve. There’s a shine in her eyes as she looks anywhere but at him that makes his heart clench, his stomach swoop. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to upset you-,”

“Do you want to share some pancakes with me?” She looks back at him, the tears at the edge of her eyes gone, a shaky smile in place. “I don’t think I can eat a whole meal. Would you wanna share? And we can get some for the road. For later. I know you’re always hungry.”

“Y/N-,”

Her smile fully, firmly back in place, she nudges his leg with hers beneath the table. “C’mon, Barnes! Share with me won’t you?”

He nods, wondering how much of herself Y/N actually lets him see. A tightness forms in his stomach.

Y/N has never closed herself to him

But now that he thinks about it, he’s never really asked much.

 

~

 

The car ride is quiet for once. The radio is silent, their pancakes for the road are on the back seat safely in their box, Y/N having fallen asleep early in the ride.

Her breathing is slow and even, hand on the middle console where she’s holding his, even in deep sleep. The windows are rolled up, so as not to wake Y/N. He knows he’s been keeping her up at night, with his nightmares, with their lazy kissing. All in all, he knows he’s exhausted her, that he’s more burden than relief. As usual, as always.

The road is wide open in front of him, the red of the earth meeting the blue of the sky, the pavement of the road splitting the horizon. The sun is staring to sink, casting everything in vivid hues of red and orange and a strange blue that he tries to avoid. He tries to enjoy the beauty of the land in front of him but he finds he’s too worried about Y/N.

He’s afraid of this new thing between them, that it might destroy the friendship they share. He would rather keep Y/N close, keep her friendship, than ask for something else, than ask for too much, something he doesn’t deserve, and ruin what he already has, what is already precious to him.  

He still can’t believe it happened, that she’s accepted his affections.

But now he’s worried she’s been hiding herself from him, putting on a front, while he’s barred his soul to her, pressed his heart to the center of her hand, ragged and bleeding as it is. He trusts her to take care of it. Does Y/N not trust him to treat hers with the same gentleness, the same revere and love?

Bucky wonders what she had suddenly remembered in the diner, what memory he had accidentally prodded with his question. But Y/N has never forced him to tell her about what thoughts flitted through his mind, and so he would afford her the same distance, the same respect.

He squeezes her hand on the console as she shifts in her seat, sighing gently.

 

**Three days ago**

 

“Do you mean that?”

He’s frozen. He can’t move, he _won’t_. He doesn’t even fucking breathe, which probably gives him away. Maybe she’ll think she imagined his voice and fall asleep. But her hand moves against his chest, traces a soothing circle there. “Do you mean that?” She whispers again as the air conditioner clicks off and they’re plunged into silence. “Bucky?”

“Yes,” he hears himself murmur. “I mean it.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything. Silence rings out, loud and crushing. Anxiety threatens him, his heart pounding. The fact that her hand is on his chest, and she can likely feel the frantic beating of his heart, only sends him spiraling deeper into a panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice distant and slow. It feels like someone has stuffed cotton into his ears, the world fading around him, blackening. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” Would she leave now? Cut their trip short and go back to New York?

He tightens his arms around her, squeezing his eyes shut. Bucky doesn’t have to guess, he knows she’ll leave. It was stupid to have murmured those three words, even if he thought she had been asleep. Her hand stops moving, the silence deepening.

No dogs bark, no cars trundle by, even the buzzing of the old lamp seems to have quieted. The silence is complete and full for once. It’s also stifling and horrible, like the universe itself has stopped for a moment.

Y/N’s hand trails up to his neck from his chest. She cups his jaw, thumb sweeping back and forth over the stubble there. “Look at me.”

He does, opening his eyes, finding it easy to do as Y/N says. No smile adorns her face when he meets her eyes. A crease has appeared between her brows, eyes focused on his. “Blue,” she whispers. “Do you mean that?”

Nausea claws up his throat, he feels stupid, tears burning at the back of his throat. Is she fucking with him? Why would she make him say it again? Admit it again? Even though he had inadvertently told her he hadn’t thought she would ever make fun of him. He expects her to burst out laughing at any second, his heart sinking further in his chest.

“I do,” he says, glancing away from her eyes, focusing them on the distant wall behind her head. The ugly, stained brown is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to keep his focus away from her eyes, so all-knowing and _soft_ , so soft his heart breaks and slowly heals anytime he looks into them for too long. “I do,” he murmurs again, panic finally swallowing rationality. “But I need you to stay with me. Please, I need to finish this trip. I need to figure out what blue means and I don’t think I can do it without you. Nothing will change between us, nothing. I promise. We can forget this ever happened. Just please don’t leave me. Nothing will change, Y/N-,” he rushes out nervously.

“What if I want things to change?”

His heart shatters as he glances back to her. She’s smiling and he suddenly can’t stand touching her anymore, can’t handle her making fun of him. He loves her and he needs her and she’s _laughing_ at him. His heart hurts, cracks, shatters, breaks-

Bucky starts to pull away from her when soft lips land against his. Her hand is tender against his face as she moves her lips slowly against his.

For a moment he can’t move, breath, kiss her back.

He wants to.

He can’t remember how.

And then she starts to pull away, her lips brushing his as she whispers, “Oh, god, Bucky I’m sorry-,”

Bucky reaches up and presses his hand to the side of her neck, thumb sweeping over her jaw. “No,” he murmurs just before he kisses her, moving his mouth gently against hers, as delicately as he can. He wants to swallow her whole, devour her, but he knows he should savor the taste of her mouth, the press of her lips. He doesn’t know how long it will last or if she’ll allow it to happen again.

She’ll regret it in the morning. He knows she will. But he still kisses her, grabs her hips and gently rolls them so she’s on her back. Y/N’s hands move to his shoulders, raking down his back. “Bucky,” she whispers. “Hey.”

He pulls back to look at her, pretty lips swollen, eyes wide and full of an emotion he can’t quite identify. The air conditioner rumbles to life again, everything so very loud, as the world decides to move on and keep spinning. “I’m sorry,” he says again, fearing the worst even as his heart soars, hope blooming in his chest. “I’m sorry, Y/N-,”

“Don’t be.” She reaches up to tuck some long strands of hair behind his ear. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know that I love you, Bucky. I don’t want…I don’t want to make you think I feel something that I don’t. I might, but I don’t know. But I do care about you _so much_. And I don’t want to go home either. And you have nothing to be sorry.”

Bucky stares down into her sunshine eyes, watching as a slow smile spreads over her face. Something inside him heals a little in that moment, makes confidence grow in his chest. “And this is okay?” He doesn’t expect her to love him, but maybe she might want him, accept him. Maybe she might let him rest close to her heart, almost love. “You want to-,”

Her thumb tracks over his bottom lip, a shutter running up his spine as she pushes him closer with her hand against his back. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Yes. You’re…I’ve never met anyone quite like you. I’ve never had anyone look at me like…like I matter. Like I’m important. You listen to me. You…you’re very-um, you’re a miracle walking, Bucky Barnes. And a good kisser.”

He laughs, elation twisting around his heart as Y/N pulls him down against her fully. “I’ve never been around someone so good and caring.” Her fingers twist into his hair, her nose pressing into the side of her head. “Bucky,” she murmurs again, “I’ve been having the time of my life with you this summer.”

“Yeah?” He asks, breathless and euphoric, disbelieving. “Mine too.”

She chuckles and strokes his cheek, “Buck.” Y/N pulls back to look at him. He searches her eyes, wondering how they look even softer than before, than all the other times he’s looked into her eyes. Y/N dips her head forward to press her mouth against his, tongue slipping out to slide along his bottom lip.

She kisses him lazily, like they fit together. It’s natural. It’s blissful.

And when she giggles, and lets him trail his fingers under her shirt, he thinks that maybe, for once, things are going his way. Maybe she could come to love him.

 

**Present day**

 

When he pulls into the parking lot of the overlook, Y/N is just waking, stretching. She looks around, confusion flitting over her face. “Oh, Buck. I’m sorry,” she says, turning to him when she realizes where they are. “God, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m such a bad road trip partner.”

He smiles, lips twitching gently into a grin. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You needed the rest. We’re here and you’ll be awake to share this with me.”

“The grand hole in the ground you mean?” She grins at him as she opens her door and hops out of the car. “C’mon!” She shouts before she slams it closed.

He laughs and follows her out of the car, over to the wooden railing of the overlook. She’s already at the edge, the sunset lighting her frame, outlining the gentle curves of her body. Bucky stops, struck by her beauty, her hair, the doodles on her legs. His breath catches as he watches her press her hands to the beam and lean into the warm wind flowing toward her. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick picture of her before walking over to her, glancing at the few other people there. “Y/N?” he asks, pressing one hand to her hip.

Her eyes are wide, mouth open as she stare out over the canyon, at the setting sun. “You alright, darlin’?”

“It’s so _beautiful_ ,” she whispers before looking over at him. Her eyes hold a light and wonder that had left his own long ago, the breeze ruffling her hair.

“Yeah,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off hers. And it’s so fucking _cliché_ but he absolutely does not mean the canyon or the sunset or anything in front of them when he whispers, “Beautiful.”

She smiles, “Wanna eat those pancakes? Watch the sunset?”

“Yes.”

Y/N turns and runs her eyes over the canyon again before moving back to the car with him, settling on the hood of the vehicle, plastic forks in hand, to go box of pancakes between them. It’s quiet for a while, comfortable and safe, as they listen to the dry wind roll over the landscape.

Eventually though, Y/N turns to him, chewing, and says, “I kept those flowers you gave me when we went to see the Grotto. From the parking lot. I put them in my journal, pressed them.”

“Why?”

They were weeds, technically. He thought she’d thrown them out weeks ago, maybe even that same night. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. No one has ever given me flowers before.”

“No one?” He asks, shocked. Y/N’s the sort of person one could imagine getting flowers everyday of her life. “Ever?”

She shakes her head, reaching out for his hand, “No one. And I just…couldn’t throw them out, y’know? I’m gonna keep ‘em forever. Especially since you gave ‘em to me.”

“I’ll get you proper flowers, Y/N,” he says immediately. “And I’ll get ‘em for ya every day, if that’s what you want.”

Her grin spreads and his heart flutters, “You really are made of gold, Bucky Barnes.” She grabs the empty box then, closing it as she moves it from between them, snuggling into his side even though it’s still hot. He enjoys warmth, of any kind but mostly hers, and she knows it. Y/N knows he prefers constant heat to ever having to feel the cold.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he circles his arms around her. “Doll, I…about the diner. I didn’t mean to upset you. I want you to know that you can be _you_ around me. I trust you to see me. You can trust me to see you.”

She’s gone stiff against him, her eyes closed, as a tiny, trembling breath leaves her. Bucky presses a kiss to her cheek as the sun finally dips down behind crest of the earth, darkness starting to fall. He hopes it’s the right thing to do and somehow it is. She relaxes, her fingers going to his thigh as she leans her head against his shoulder.

“We should talk about that. Is it right for me to kiss you?” She turns her head to look at him. “God, I mean, I feel so many things when I’m with you but…should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” He asks, heart hammering, anxiety beginning its slow, familiar drip into his gut.

She shakes her head, “I just worry…because I’m a therapist that-,”

“No,” he cuts her off. “You are, but you aren’t _my_ therapist. You came on this trip for me as a friend.” Bucky finds it strange that he’s the one reassuring her for once. “You haven’t seen any files. You don’t work for Stark. You aren’t breaking any rules. And I can decide who I want and who I don’t. Besides, I like to think we’re helping each other. We are, aren’t we?”

She glances up into his eyes, searches them desperately, quietly, before she presses one hand to his cheek. “You read me as well as I read you, don’t you?”

“What happened at the diner today?”

“Would it be bad of me to pull your line? And say I don’t want to talk about it?” The beginning of a smile lines her eyes, twists her lips.

He shakes his head, happiness clenching around his heart. “No, I’d say that’s perfectly fine. You don’t always have to be okay with me, perfect sunshine y’know? You can be down sometimes too.”

She leans forward so their lips brush together, “You think I’m sunshine?” And he has to laugh, large and booming, echoing over the canyon, because it’s absolutely ridiculous that she doesn’t know, hasn’t realized, that she rests at the center of his universe.

“Yes, sunshine,” he teases before capturing her lips, darkness having finally blanketed them, shielding them from the word.

He laughs again when Y/N pulls back to grin wildly at him, “If I’m the sun, then you are most definitely the moon. My moon.” Bucky only pushes her back against the windshield, delighting in her giggles, in the way he fits against her, at the feeling of her hands in his hair.

She tastes like maple syrup and coffee.

Her lips are soft, caressing his. 

He hopes the summer never ends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!

Her fingers are in his hair, tugging gently, as they kiss.

It’s quiet, his mind at peace. A clock on the wall slowly, loudly, ticks the seconds away. The TV is on, a soft white background noise to the wet press of their lips.

The hotel sheets are soft, not like the motels’ usual lineup of scratchy, and often harsh, sheets against his sensitive skin. Y/N’s skin, softer than the sheets, presses against his. She’s so warm it’s addictive. Everything about her is addictive, her laugh, her skin, her eyes, her kindness, her-

She whimpers against his mouth, gasps when he trails hot kisses down her neck.

And that, _that_ is addictive, the small sounds only he can pull from her lips. It makes him want to give her his soul, the whole world, anything, as though she doesn’t already hold all of them in the palm of her hand. She must be an angel to be able to make such heavenly sounds. She hooks her legs around his waist, trying to drag him closer.

When her kisses become needier, hotter, more desperate, hips grinding against his, he pulls away, panting and wild-eyed. Bucky looks down at her as she blinks away the fog of need in her eyes in favor of concern. She tilts her head to the side, brows pulling together as she runs her hands up his back. “What’s wrong? You alright?”

“No. I-I, Y/N, I can’t. Not yet. I’m not-,”

He’s not whole, unmarked, ready.

He’s not _ready_.

Even though Y/N has seen him in boxers and they’ve slept pressed up close together and shared food and drink and kissed and he _loves her_ , he’s not ready. He can’t. Even though she’s already seen him at his worst, his most vulnerable, he _cannot_.

He’s starting to freeze up. He can’t remember how to say no.

“Hey,” her voice is gentle, pulling his attention back to her sharply, seeing his panicked silence for what it is. “We don’t have to. We won’t. Not unless we’re both on board with the idea okay?” Her hand slides up from his back, over his neck, through his hair as she encourages him to lower his head. Bucky does so slowly until his ear pressed over her heart, Y/N’s mouth ghosting over his hair, fingers gentle against his shoulders, nails scratching lightly against his skin.

The sound of Y/N’s heartbeat twists with his own.

The world goes silent except for that sound. He closes his eyes, wondering how he and Y/N had found each other, how she had so easily accepted him, not just as friends but something _more_ too. He wonders how he’ll ever make it last beyond the summer.

“Stop it,” she says suddenly, tugging at one strand of his hair. “Stop thinking so much. You worry with your whole body.”

He huffs out an annoyed breath, even if he’s glad for the distraction. Y/N always seems to know how to bring him out of his own head, knows how to beat back his own bad thoughts better than he does. “What does that mean, sweetheart?”

“It means, Barnes, that your whole body goes stiff and your fingers twitch and…I can _see_ it, okay? You’re like an open book to me, your thoughts just roll across your face. It’s all there.” She wriggles underneath of him, shimmying downwards until they’re level with each other. Her hands go to either side of his face, her eyes on his lips. “It’s not time to worry about the future yet, Buck.”

He sighs, knows she’s right, because she’s always right. Her thumbs travel back and forth over his cheekbones slowly. “I was thinking about that jacket again, Y/N.” He says suddenly, surprising himself. “Y’know, I look around and I see you,” he pauses, swallowing thickly, leaning his forehead against hers. “I see you and I see you smiling at me. I see the sun and the fields and the canyon and forests and flowers and the parking lots and the diners. I see it. I’m here. But sometimes, you’ll look away from me, you’ll let go of my hand, and everything goes dark.”

Bucky stops, tries to swallow back the raw emotion stabbing at the back of his throat, at his eyes. “I see a field of dead soldiers. I’ll hear the wind in the trees and I’ll see Europe. Sometimes I see a wet, dark corridor and not the hotel hallway. I see snow and ice and blue. Was I a coward, Y/N?”

Her lips, soft and pliant and careful, brush against his, “What do you mean?”

“For not wanting to do it? For wanting to go home?”

“I think every soldier has looked at a battlefield and wanted to go home. There isn’t cowardice in that, it’s just human nature.” She draws her fingers down his cheek and along his jaw. “Have you recovered more memories?”

Curling his arm around her back, he pulls her closer, closing his eyes. “Yeah. And I’m beating around the bush here, Y/N, but I think…I think I figured it out. Blue. I think I know. And I’m afraid it’s going to happen again.”

He can feel her lashes against his skin, fluttering gently, the rumbling sound of the cold air-conditioning in his ears. If he opens his eyes he knows there’ll be a concerned crease between her brows. “What do you mean, love?” He can tell by her voice that she knows he’s on the verge of admitting something.

His heart jumps with the word _love_ on her lips, and he suddenly can’t tell her. He can’t say it because Y/N _sees_ him, she sees inside his bones, his soul, his heart, his mind. She sees the dark places inside him and she doesn’t flinch away, she embraces them in a way no one else really does.

“Let’s sleep,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her nose, not answering her question.

She presses a returning kiss to his cheek, her sigh only a little defeated. “Goodnight, Buck.”

 

~

 

When Bucky wakes in the morning, soft light is filtering in their hotel room window. He stretches and reaches out for Y/N, only to find her gone, her side of the bed cold. It’s then that he hears light chatter, laughter he would recognize anywhere, outside their window.

He rolls out of bed and stumbles to the window to peer down into the street a floor below, trying to see what Y/N has gotten herself into now.

His heart drops into his stomach when he pushes the curtains back. Y/N is chatting with a man. Her loud laughter floats up to him as she reaches out and puts her hand on the his forearm. Bucky swallows, noting the wild patterns on Y/N’s legs from her sharpie, darker and thicker than usual. He watches her as she talks to the guy, wearing her sleep shorts and _his_ shirt. She’s barefoot and standing next to a bench.

Clearly she had went out to watch the sun, and maybe the people setting up a market across the road too. It’s a small town and their hotel is in its city center for once and not at the outskirts or along the highway. The people and early morning activity had likely drawn her outside.

Bucky turns then, jerking on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt before heading to their door, a stiff stride in his step. Something curls in his gut, an emotion he doesn’t often feel twisting there. It invades his blood, threads along his bones, darts up his spine.

As he bolts down the steps he thinks it might be jealousy.

But he’s fooling himself. He knows its fear.

He’s afraid.

He and Y/N have only just begun something like a relationship, even if they hadn’t labeled it yet. It would be so _easy_ , for someone else, for a person whose mind didn’t battle them constantly, for a person whose soul and body were whole, to rip her away from him.

The only person she’s really talked to in recent weeks has been _him_. Maybe she would realize the second she talked to a normal person again that she’d made a mistake in letting him in, letting him near.

Bucky jogs through the hotel lobby and quietly opens the front door, quickly approaching Y/N and the man on the sidewalk.

She’s laughing again, her head thrown back, sunshine filtering around her hair. The guy is also laughing, his eyes on Y/N as he chuckles.

The morning air is still cool, a nip in the air, but Y/N is warm when he wraps his arm around her waist. The sunlight pooled around her feet too, is warm, but her smile is slightly muddled when she meets his eyes.

Still, she’s smiling at him, gaze soft and centered wholly on him even if confusion is also laced in her eyes. “Mornin’ Buck,” she says, just a bit of suspicion in her voice as she narrows her eyes slightly.

An embarrassed flush creeps up his neck. He’s hardly ever so forward with her and the suspicion in her eyes only turns to mischief when he doesn’t immediately answer. “Mornin’ Y/N,” he says, loosening his grip on her hip. “I, uh-,”

She doesn’t let him continue, reaching around to tug him close as she holds up a pamphlet he hadn’t noticed in her hand. “I’ve been invited to a concert.” She smiles and Bucky’s heart nearly breaks with the sweetness of it. “Right, Frank?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” Frank says, nodding at Bucky.

“Buck, Frank. Frank, Buck.” She introduces them quickly, her voice a light flurry of words. The guy squints at him, eyes flicking down to his arm, gaze raking over the metal of his left arm. His lip quirks and for a moment Bucky can’t figure it out. He can’t figure out the twist of his lips, the tilt of his head, the shine in his eyes. It almost looks like lighthearted amusement.

Frank reaches out, shakes Y/N’s hand, “I hope to see you there, ma’am.”

“You will,” she says, nodding as she gives his hand a firm shake back. They watch him walk away, the low sounds of the day’s insects starting up, cicadas buzzing as the sun grows hotter. She pulls away from him then and looks into his eyes, her wide smirk growing as she grips his shirt in her fists against his ribs. “I sense a bit of jealousy in you, sir.”

He groans, blush deepening, as he pulls her closer and buries his face in her neck. “Don’t-,”

“I’ll have you know I was just sitting her minding my own business, watching the farmer’s market people, when Frank approached me. Wanna guess what we were talking about?”

“No,” he grumbles, pressing his lips against Y/N’s neck, the kiss light and affectionate.

She shivers in his grasp before pulling away, her smile a little shaky as she ducks her head. “But we were talkin’ about _you_ , Buck.”

Frowning, he watches as she sits down on the bench, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Why?” The sun is beating down on them now, rays slanting over the people at the market across the street, filtering through the canopy of tree leaves. Y/N’s eyes have glossed over a little as she stares, reaching out for Bucky’s hand subconsciously as he reclines next to her.

He lies one arm along the back of the bench, his other curling around her fingers. She leans into his shoulder, not saying anything for a moment as they listen to the chatter of the market float toward them.

“Remember when you told me I don’t always have to be okay?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, turning his head to press his nose into her hair. She smells like summer, like lavender and coco butter and sunshine on soft skin. “I remember.”

“Did you mean that?”

Her hand is in his metal one, her thumb pressing lightly over the shifting plates. But he’s afraid to move, even if he desperately wants to squeeze her hand in reassurance. He settles for hooking his other arm around her shoulders, pulling her that much closer. “Yeah, Y/N, of course I did,” he murmurs against her, closing his eyes.

Next to the market square is a park, children’s laughter floating over to them on the breeze accompanied by the smell of barbeque and ice cream, soft drinks and popcorn. There’s a hum coming from the booths, where he knows there must be funnel cake and lemonade.

A light breeze ruffles his hair as Y/N squirms that much closer to him, basking in his touch as he does in hers. “I felt bad this morning. I was worrying. And so I came outside and I watched the sun rise and then they started to set up the market and I felt a little bit better. But, I was also drawing.”

He opens his eyes and glances over as she kicks out one leg, showcasing the newly drawn patterns, the ink darker than usual as though she had pressed a little harder than she normally would have. “You asked me once why I do it. And I don’t remember what I said, just that I deflected your question.” He looks back to her eyes then, not wanting to miss whatever she was about to reveal. “When things get hard, it calms me down. It feels nice. And I was drawing on my leg when Frank came over.”

Bucky nods, watching Y/N’s eyes flick nervously over his face, never settling, stalling over his lips, before they finally flick to meet his again. “He asked me what I was doing. And I almost told him, a complete stranger. And I felt like…like I was betraying you, for almost telling him. So, I asked about the pamphlets in his hand.” She picks up her own copy from where she had lain it on the bench next to her.

She holds it up to the sun so that they both have to tilt their heads back to see it. “A concert to benefit veterans, which I agreed to go to. Obviously I started to tell him all about my favorite veteran.” She lowers it and looks back into his eyes, the universe and all the wisdom in the world stored in her irises. Frank’s amused glance suddenly making sense. “And then my mildly jealous veteran came barreling out of the hotel and here we are.”

Bucky bumps his forehead into hers, not taking his eyes off hers, liking the way she called him _hers_. “I worry.”

“Why?” Her voice is a soft caress, the world fading away as it so often does when all of her attention is focused on him. He had meant it when he said he knows she only looks at important things.

He shakes his head. “I just do.”

“But you have a reason.”

Before he can come up with something else to tell her, she kisses him. Her lips are insistent against his, full and soft.

She tastes like mint.

And when she pulls back he feels dizzy, barely registering the scrunch of her nose. “Wait ‘til I tell the whole world that super soldiers still get morning breath.”

He bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking as she smiles, her lips twitching wider. “You’re such a little shit sometimes, Y/N.”

“That seems to be exactly your kinda person, Barnes.”

“Wouldn’t ya know it, it is.”

She shifts away from him then, pulling her sharpie from her pocket as she plops her legs into his lap. Bucky immediately puts his hand on her calf, massaging her muscles gently, tracing the patterns already etched into her skin. “Gimme your arm, Barnes.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to show you why I draw on my legs. It’s calming. Let me show you.” She holds her hand out expectantly, head tilted to the side.

He sighs, falsely exasperated, putting his flesh hand in hers. “Fine. Only if you buy me some funnel cake after.”

“Bucky,” she says, shaking her head, “If you keep eating pancakes and pancake related products you’re going to turn into one.”

“That’s my goal, darlin’.”

In truth he’s trying to process what she’s just told him, that she has rough days. She doesn’t seem to have rough days, even though he knows she must. He’s glad, happy, _proud_ even, that she’s decided to share with him, that she trusts him enough to.

She presses the sharpie into the flesh of his forearm, tracing a line up the inside of his arm to his elbow. The pressure is nice, surprisingly so, and Bucky finds himself tipping his head back, face tilted toward the sun as he closes his eyes. “Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He opens his eyes to watch her, her head bent over his arm as she works. “Do you…is it anxiety?”

“It’s a lot of things.” She’s quiet for a moment, their bubble of silence complimented by the market’s chaos across the street. “It’s…fear. I told you that I moved around a lot as a kid.” Y/N takes the marker away from his skin. “I get very afraid sometimes that, maybe, everyone will disappear, leave. I liked moving around, but it was lonely. Sometimes, I’m worried you might disappear, that one day I’ll wake up and everyone will have left me instead of the other way around.”

She looks up to meet his eyes as he presses his hand against her cheek, thumb swiping across her cheekbone, sun kissing her skin lightly as she leans into his touch. She’s the most beautiful, sunlight wielding, kind person he’s ever met…and she’s worried he might leave _her_.

He kisses her nose. “I’ll always be around for you to draw on.”

A bright smile flashes across her face, the world filtering back into theirs as a gaggle of children flash by them. “So you liked it?” She wiggles the marker at him.

“Yeah. But you promised me a funnel cake.

“That I did, pancake, that I did.”

He blushes. “Don’t call me pancake,” he grumbles.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little extra bit. It's Bucky's letter from the reader.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Dear Buck,

(As a small aside before we begin, Barnes, I want you to know it was very tempting to address this to you as Deer Buck. Get it? I think it’s funny. You should giggle too. I certainly am.)

I know you only think you’re charming, and most days you don’t even think you’re that. When I look at you, I see tense shoulders, furrowed brows, and a broken heart. I see a racing mind and isolation. But I also see a lot more. I see kindness and tenderness, and I see laugh lines and smile lines. I see brightness and intelligence and quiet watchfulness.

I see a person who indulges my whims, something no one else has even done. I see someone I care about and I see someone who cares about me.

You’re smart and really funny, even if you might not believe that. You’ve got a dry sass that matches mine and I think that’s the rarest thing, to find a humor soulmate.

And you also do absolutely _ridiculous_ things like read the paper at night before bed, even though no one reads the paper in the _morning_ anymore, Barnes. I told you we can listen to people yell about anything under the sun by listening to podcasts. Because that’s all the news is now, old man. It’s just yelling.

But it endears me to you all the same. Like, how sometimes, I’m talking and the radio is loud and, even though what I’m saying isn’t important, you’ll reach out and turn it down. You listen to me and I’m so used to being the lister that I forgot what it means to be listened to. It’s like you see me. You are attentive and empathetic and a good listener. And charm can’t ever be any of those things.

You’re caring and wonderful and everything good in the world.

You make my days better. You make me feel whole in my heart when you tip your head back and your eyes get all squinty and you just _laugh_.

You have a nice laugh. Even if it’s rare.

You are a good laugher, because you never hide it from me. It’s loud and I like it. It’s loud and unapologetic when it’s given to me.

You are a giver and a caretaker, and those are all too sporadic in the world.  

So, I want you to know that you can be all things.

You can be brokenhearted and tense shouldered. You can be introspective and tired. You can keep the purple under your eyes and the hurt in your soul.

But you have to also know all the other things you are. You aren’t _just_ those things.

You are more than charming and you are more than the bad things you think you are.

You are kind and tender and caring and so handsome. You are inspiring and warm and good.

Good, good, good, _good_.

These are the important things you need to know about yourself.

But you are also: a good cook.

When you cooked at the Tower for me and Tony yelled at you for getting pancake batter all over the counter and you took the rap, even though we both knew that it was me that got it everywhere.

So, that also means you are heroic and gallant and self-sacrificing. (You are all these things for other reasons too.)

You are strong.

You are loved.

But, could I also point out that if we didn’t have to only eat pancake related foods we would not have been in that mess. And I know you’re rolling your eyes right now and thinking, “you only eat breakfast foods, Y/N.” You simply do not have the same hazards with eggs, Barnes, would be my response.

You are valiant.

You are good.

Good is the most important of these qualities.

Because you often don’t believe it. I can see it in your eyes, when you think about things, when your eyes go dim and your mind is so loud I can hear it.

Another thing that you are: a good friend.

An even better road trip partner.

You are sweet and easy to like.

You can be wily and twisty, and sometimes I see a prankster in you. I see the old Bucky Barnes. But he’s not as important as you think he is. And neither is the Winter Soldier.

Because they aren’t you. And you aren’t them. And you get to decide who you are now and what you want to be and what you want to do. No one else gets to decide that, only you do.

So, even thinking about blue all the time, maybe you should think about you too. You should think about everything I’ve said in this letter because I mean all of it and more. I know blue is important to you and remembering is important to you. But you, as you are _now_ , is important to me.

Blue can mean something. It can also mean nothing.

But at the end of the day it’s you who means everything to a lot of people. And it’s _you_ who should mean something, everything, to yourself.

You have so many more lovely, darling qualities. But I’ll cut it off here.

Love,

Forever and always yours, Y/N

Road trip expert and Bucky enthusiast extraordinaire

 

~

 

Bucky’s hands drop down, the letter dangling from between the fingers of his left hand. The only sound in their room is Y/N’s soft breath, the gentle ocean lull of her lungs.

He folds up the letter slowly, sniffling, pretending not to see the tiny droplets of moisture against the blurry, messy, hurried letters. Stuffing the letter back in its envelope, he cringes at the loud scrape of paper against paper.

Bucky swallows thickly, not moving for a moment as he looks at the small square, thumbs pressing against the edges of the delicate thing between his hands. Silence shutters through the room as he mulls over the words on the page within. He bows his head, pressing his hands against his forehead, paper sticking to his cool, sweat slicked skin. Moonlight spills across the pale carpet from the window, just brushing the tips of his toes where he sits at the edge of the bed as his shoulders begin to shake.

It takes longer than he expects, the effort to get a hold of his emotions. But when he does, after many minutes of lowly repressed whines and tears and thickly swallowed emotion, he carefully places the envelope on the bedside table before shucking off his shirt and lying back down.

He curls around Y/N’s back as she stirs, mumbling in her sleep. “Buck?” She slurs, turning in his arms to nuzzle against the warmth of his chest, her face pressed to his neck. “Okay?” Her lips brush against the delicate skin, feeling exactly like heaven.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay, baby.” She drifts again before she jolts and reaches out, blindly jerking up the comforter more securely around his shoulders. “Stay warm.”

He almost cries again, nose against her temple, ache at the back of his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it! Also, I swear there is plot here, its coming.

Y/N is in the bathroom singing as she gets ready for bed, a perfect complement to the crickets outside their window, the warm breeze flowing over him, peacefulness settled around his bones as he lies in bed waiting for her. He thinks maybe she doesn’t know he can hear her. It’s nice to hear her unfiltered voice, sweet and soothing, unburdened, unhindered. He closes his eyes, sheets soft against his skin.

She stops singing suddenly, a tiny laugh leaving her lips before she throws open the bathroom door. “Buck!” she shouts, launching herself across the room and onto the bed. “I’m ready for bed.” She wears his shirt and a pair of shorts.

“I can see that darlin’,” he chuckles when she drapes herself across his bare chest with a small whine, nuzzling into his neck. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she murmurs, nestling further into his chest. “I’m good, tired.” She reminds him of a cat, happy where she curls against him. A long sigh leaves her when she closes her eyes, “Really tired.”

He smiles softly, wrapping one arm around her, reaching out with his other to flick the bedside lamp off. “You did a lot of dancing.” They had went to the concert earlier and Bucky had only fallen more in love as he watched her dance with the locals under the soft fairy lights strung between trees.

“You could have too if you weren’t a lump on a log,” she says, rolling to the side, her face still pressed against his neck, hot breath fanning over his skin, making him shiver as she tosses one of her legs over his. “I thought you old people liked to do the jitterbug.”

“What do you know about the jitterbug, doll?” He asks with a low laugh, fingers trailing inside her shirt, smoothing over the soft skin of her hip. The croaking frogs and crickets make a soft music for them, a rotating fan keeping time in the corner of the room. Downstairs, the hotel bar is still serving drinks, loud laughter and conversation floating on the night air. Some people smoke cigarettes on the patio below, the smell of tobacco and sweet summer air drifting into their room.

She’s silent for a long time, and still against his side, her fingers digging into his ribs as she smooths her hand over chest comfortingly. “Get ready,” she whispers. “I’m about to reveal something about myself.”

Her nervousness invades him, slips under his skin, filters into his blood, dances around his heart. But still, he can’t help but chuckle a little, doing his best to sooth her anxiety. “I figured as much, sweetheart.”

“I told you we traveled around a lot. It was just me and my old man. Diner after diner, dusty road after dusty road, wind in my hair. I would stick my head out the window of the car and my dad would get so mad at me. When I think about it, about my childhood, it’s always summer. It’s always warm and my dad is always happy. We’re always fishing or camping or entertaining a diner full of people. My dad, he could captivate anyone. He charmed waitresses like it was nothing. We ate for free half the time, just because people liked us so much. And he taught me how to dance. I learned to dance with my dad. I danced for the first time on bare feet beside a dusty highway in Kansas because my dad’s favorite song came on the radio and he realized he never taught me how. So he pulled to the side of the road and he taught me.”

She pauses for a moment, and when she speaks again her voice cracks, “It was at dusk and still warm and I laughed a lot. He said, ‘No daughter of mine won’t know how to dance.’”

“And when I think about my childhood there are always crickets. There are always frogs. There are always dogs barking and kids to play with and an adventure to be had.” She shakes her head against his neck and Bucky is shocked and more than a little alarmed to feel the warm wetness of tears against his neck.

He rolls onto his side, circling both arms around her waist to pull her close. Y/N presses both her hands into his back, tracing the long scars melded into his skin, taking shaky, deep breaths as she tries to continue. “It’s always summer in my mind. I know I went to school, that we settled down during those months just a little. But, it’s always summer when I think about it. And the truth is when you asked me to go on this trip with you…it was like fate. I couldn’t wait. I felt bad for being so excited, because I knew this was for you and your health but…its summer. I don’t have to pretend that its summer when I’m with you. It’s always summer when I’m with you.”

Something in his chest, maybe his heart, maybe his soul, gives a painful thump. His lungs seem to constrict, love and warmth filling in the empty, pulsing gaps in his chest. Somehow, he knows exactly what she’s saying. He doesn’t need clarification. He understands her just as she understands him. “You’re my summer too, Y/N.”

“Even when it’s cold?” She asks, voice shaking. “Even when it’s snowing and Steve yells at us for tracking ice inside? Even when you can’t get warm under the blanket because you didn’t tell me how bad your shoulder was aching?” Bucky remembers the soft light of the television reflected on her face last winter as she sat close to him, worry creasing her brow, asking if she might touch him, touch his shoulder. He remembers the soft feeling of her fingertips against the tender muscle and the snow drifting down outside the compound’s large windows, Natasha smirking knowingly at him from over Y/N’s shoulder.

He doesn’t hesitate in his answer, “Even then. Especially then. You aren’t just my summer, you’re my sunshine. I’ve told you before, that you’re my sunshine. And the sun shines all year Y/N, even when it isn’t summer.”

“It doesn’t,” she says, voice hitching a little. “Not everywhere.”

“Those are the dark places I never want to visit, Y/N. Not without you, anyways.”

She sniffles and then sighs, wriggling closer to him, sheets rustling gently until she finally settles with a quiet hum. They lie tangled together, listening to the long, baleful croaks of the frogs. “Let’s go to the beach next.”

“I don’t know if you know this or not doll,” he starts, sarcasm heavy on his tongue. “But we’re in the middle of the continental United States. That means we’re nowhere near the beach.”

She ignores him, giggling a little. Bucky’s chest fills with a warm pride, it swims into his bloodstream and tints his cheeks pink, because he made her _laugh_. And maybe he’s been doing that all the time lately but it feels important now, when Y/N is upset, sad. “To Mexico. All the way to Cancun. That’s the beach we’ll go to.”

He chuckles quietly, kissing the side of her head gently, a question sitting heavily on his tongue, a question he’s been thinking about since she first kissed him. Shaking the question away, he asks instead, “What’ll we do in Cancun, Y/N?”

Her voice is quiet and so is their room, moth’s wings beating against the window’s mesh screen, Y/N’s voice fluttering over his skin. “We’ll sit on the beach,” she murmurs, her hand drifting upwards to rest against his neck, thumb tracking over his throat. “And we’ll swim in the ocean and look at the sky.”

Bucky can see it. He can see the sand and sea, he can hear the ocean and smell the salt in the air. He can feel the breeze against his skin and Y/N’s hand in his own. When he looks over in this fantasy they’re alone, naked, unembarrassed. She’s beautiful, as she always is. “What time of day is it?”

“Nighttime. The moon is full and it looks down at the ocean. It’s big. It takes up the whole sky.”

“Is their fire?” He whispers.

Her hand slides back down over his skin, nails raking along his chest lightly. “Tiki torches, all along the beach.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She presses her hand to his jaw, fingers catching on the scruff of his cheeks. Sometimes, when it’s quiet and dark and Y/N’s eyes are on him, he feels normal. He feels like a normal man spending a summer with his girl. He feels loved and whole and he wants to tell every person he meets _this is my girl, Y/N_. Her nervous hand stops moving, resting over his heart instead.

And yet she isn’t. But she still looks at him like he pressed each star into its place in the universe, like he traveled through time and space and did it just for her. “I read your letter,” he whispers as a car drives by the hotel, the first in hours, the sleepy town having gone to bed hours ago, aside from the people in the bar. “I read it last night. And I thought about it all day today. I thought about it at breakfast when you ordered me pancakes and coffee and a bowl of sugar without even thinking about it and I thought about it at that antique shop when you almost bought that ridiculous lamp and tried to bargain it down to a dollar when it was priced at fifty.”

“Leave that lamp alone. It’s a masterpiece,” she sasses. But there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice, her hand pressing harder against his chest, as though she’s preparing to shove away from him.

Bucky tightens his arms around her, keeps her from moving away from him. “That lamp was ugly and we both know it.”

“Ugly things need love too.”

“Like me?”

She scoffs and pulls back to look into his eyes, “You are the opposite of ugly, Buck. You are like the personification of manly beauty, actually you’re the personification of beauty generally, and you’re kind and lovely and people are sometimes one or the other so-,”

“Stop trying to change the subject, doll. I’m telling you something important right now,” he chuckles, kissing the side of her head.

They’re plunged into real darkness suddenly, the fan sputtering to a stop, streetlamp flickering out, glowing green numbers of the alarm clock going dark. A shout of irritation and loud chatter goes up from those left at the hotel bar downstairs. “Electricity went out,” she observes.

“That’s not ominous at all,” he mutters, wondering if he should tell her what he wants to, ask her the question weighing on his mind.

Her hand moves from his chest back to his lips, Y/N sliding her thumb slowly across his bottom lip. “Tell me, Buck. Sorry for interrupting.”

Swallowing thickly, he nods. “And I thought about your letter at lunch. And I thought about it when we went hiking after, and when you complained about hiking even though it was your idea. I thought about it when you kissed me and held my hand. And I thought about it at the concert tonight.”

The noise downstairs quiets as the late night drunks stumble out the front door, beginning their treks home. “You looked so beautiful. The fairy lights made you look like an angel. It made your hair glow and your eyes sparkle and I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t. I hung back and I watched you talk to everyone and dance and then you turned and looked at me and it was like time stopped, your smile was so big and happy and I wanted to live in that moment forever, in that soft light with your eyes on me. Everything felt… _worth it._ You make me feel like I’m worth it.”

She opens her mouth to say something but Bucky cuts her off, afraid of losing momentum, of chickening out and losing his nerve. “Your letter made me cry.” Everything has gone silent, save for the moths against the window screen, continuing their incessant and pointless drive to get inside. Y/N’s breath is shallow and tense, anticipation rolling off her in waves. “It made me realize how much…how much I love you. And-,”

He thinks the letter is evidence of her love for him but he can’t say that. Because if it isn’t she might push him away. And he doesn’t want to put words in her mouth or make her admit it before she’s ready to. “I just realized how much you care about me. You pay attention to me and I knew that before but…thank you.”

Again, she opens her mouth, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, when Bucky interrupts her again, panic bubbling up in his stomach. “And I-I wanted to know, to ask, if you would be my girl? I know we’re kind of already together-,”

He could hit himself, fear gripping his heart. _He_ might think they’re practically together but if _Y/N_ doesn’t think that then-

“Not that, no, uh, we aren’t obviously. But maybe it’s something close? And I want-I want you to be mine. And-,” he stutters, stumbling over his words.

Bucky really isn’t sure what he’s saying anymore but it doesn’t matter.

Because.

She kisses him.

Her lips are soft but firm against his, reassuring in the best way possible. Y/N pulls back enough to press her forehead to his, her sunshine gaze serious for once and locked on his. “I thought I already was your girl.”

He tries to fight his smile and fails miserably, the anxiety eating at his belly immediately subsiding. “Well, doll face,” he says, earning an eyeroll, “I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“I’m you girl,” she says, confirming it clearly. “I am. And to me that means a relationship, an exclusive one.” He closes his eyes briefly, her understanding of him making his throat tight. She knows he needs to hear it, plainly stated, knows that he might question it later otherwise.

When he manages to swallow the lump in his throat he murmurs, “That’s what it means to me too.” She huffs out a tiny, happy breath and then rolls away from him. “Y/N?”

“C’mon!”

“Where-,”

“No questions,” she says as she slips on a pair of sandals and tosses a shirt at him. “Let’s go. I have something to tell you too.”

So, he gets up and pulls on the shirt and a pair of sweats and follows _his_ girl, because he would follow her anywhere. She’s his.

He wonders if Y/N knows that he’s hers. He wonders if she knows that his soul lies in her hands, that his heart is with her, inside her chest more than it’s inside his own.

She walks ahead of him in the hallway and Bucky has to catch up to hold her hand, thread their fingers together. When she looks over at him, her smile is gentle instead of wide, happy instead of cheeky. He wants to kiss her.

The stairwell is dark and cold, close and damp, but soon enough they’re on the roof. Y/N doesn’t say anything, just points at the sky, at the stars hung in the sky above them.

For a moment they only look. The town, surrounded by forest, is dark and quiet from the electricity going out, making the stars shine all the brighter. “Remember when I called you the moon.”

He glances over and finds Y/N looking at him and not the sky. “I remember.”

“And you said that I was sunshine. You tell me that all the time.”

“You are. You are sunshine.”

She smiles and then says, “Your eyes are made from the stars in the night sky. And no, I’m not being poetic and sappy. I’m just telling the truth. That’s what I dragged you up here to see. When I look at you, I see the night sky in your eyes, I see stars.”

Bucky can’t wait any longer, he pulls her close, hands going to her hips, fingers dipping beneath her shirt as he captures her lips. “Definitely not poetic or sappy, darlin’,” he mumbles against her mouth. “Definitely not.”

A quiet giggle slips past her lips. “You’re sappy all the time,” she teases, “and soft. I can be soft just this once. And I’m going to be just a little bit more sappy okay?”

He nods, smiling against her lips, “Okay, darlin’.”

She closes her eyes. “You have the stars in your eyes and the moon in your soul and even though the sun doesn’t shine everywhere and summer isn’t all year long or even in all places, the moon is. You’re my moon and you are so important to me because you’re constant, and even when you hide away I know it won’t be for long.”

Bucky pulls her in closer then, Y/N pressing her nose to his neck, inhaling deeply, crickets and cicadas and frogs sounding all around then, the bar and town quiet and dark, stars bright above them. He know what it means to her, to have a constant and know he won’t suddenly disappear. She’s warm against his chest, both their hearts and souls soothed, quieted.

“I know where we’re going next.”

“As long as you’re with me,” he says. “I don’t care where we go.” All the same, Bucky asks, “Where?”

“New Orleans.”

“That’s the opposite of the way we’re going now.”

She pulls back a little, smiling, “So? We’ve got each other and the whole summer.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

Bucky can’t stop thinking about his dream. He can’t stop thinking about Y/N.

She’s leaning out the window of the car, basking in the breeze as he drives slowly down a winding, empty country road. It’s hot and humid and Bucky wants to stop the car and take a swim in the cheek they’re driving next to.

He almost opens his mouth to ask her when he’s assaulted by the dream again.

The dream where he hadn’t stopped Y/N’s roaming hands as he does nearly every night now. The dream where they had made love, soft and slow and sweet. Only for him to wake, realize it hadn’t actually happened and that the tightness in his boxers was painfully real. Thankfully Y/N hadn’t been awake, hadn’t realized.

But now, every time he looks at her, he sees the dream, the soft sand of a distant Cancun beach, the gentle curves of her naked body, the tremble in her hands, the carefulness of her touch against his.

It’s disconcerting though, hurtful, because in the dream, he’s normal. He’s a normal man, one with two flesh arms and no scars. He’s a man that laughs easily and whose mind is clean and free of horrors long past. He’s a man that isn’t afraid to love his woman. He glances over at Y/N again, who is back inside the window and fiddling with her phone, and wonders if he’s worth it, worth all the trouble he seems to cause.

Maybe the angel with golden sunlight around her head would grow tired of him, of his inability to let things progress further between them. That would be a deal breaker, wouldn’t it? If she wanted to and he couldn’t.

He wants to. He wants to make love to her, bond with her in the deepest way possible. He wants to feel her skin against his. He wants to be unsure about where he stops and she begins.

But every time her hands wander too far, he panics. Panic and anxiety twist up into his heart and wrap around his soul. And so he pushes her away and she only kisses his nose and smiles, wishing him sweet dreams.

It’s been weeks since that night on the rooftop in Colorado. They’ve taken their sweet time in getting to New Orleans, they’re nearly there now, and between Y/N’s soft touches and the dreams, his anxiety has reached a high point.

He doesn’t want her to stop touching him but he also doesn’t know how to make his nerves stop jangling enough to let her continue. She never mentions it though, never tries to pressure him.

Bucky glances over again to find Y/N slouched down in her seat, her head against the bottom frame of the window as she stares up at the sky reflected in her eyes.

“What are you looking at?” He asks, the words escaping him seemingly without his permission. Light filters over her face through the leaves of the trees alongside the road, dancing over her skin, tracing patterns over her features.  

She looks back at him, her eyes soft and sleepy, content, and Bucky nearly melts. Sunshine eyes brighten just a little further as she sits up and looks at the scenery passing them by. “Let’s swim in the creek,” she points out the window. Her spine is straight and when she looks back at him, there’s a giddy smile on her face.

“What?” He asks, a little shocked that she had been thinking exactly the same thing he had.

“Yeah! C’mon, Barnes! It’s hot and humid and there’s a creek right there. All we have to do is pull over and-,”

He pulls to the side of the road abruptly, coming to a bumpy stop before shifting the car into park. Shock flits over her face as a loud laugh passes her lips, “Buck-,”

He takes her face between his hands and presses a searing, hungry kiss to her lips. She makes a small noise of surprise but kisses him back, the cicadas growing louder as they sit in the idling car, its smooth purr almost unnoticeable.

Warm wind caresses their skin as he kisses her, the hungriness in the press of his lips turning to slower, sweeter kisses. He pours what he feels for her into the kiss. His love and appreciation and wonder that he’s _allowed_ to kiss someone like her. Y/N reaches up to curl her fingers around his wrists, her hands sliding down his forearms and then up his biceps. The touch of her hands, the careful, gentle pressure of her fingertips against his skin, makes him kiss her harder.

He wonders if she knows.

He wonders if Y/N knows just how much he loves her. Eventually, when Y/N is having trouble drawing breath, he pulls away and leans his forehead against hers. The light pant of her breath fans across his lips, intoxicating and sweet. She tastes like the ice cream that they had stopped for a while ago.

“What was that for?” She asks, nudging her nose against his. “You alright? Something wrong?”

For a moment he doesn’t reply, just enjoys the closeness of her.

“Hey,” she murmurs as she leans back, taking his hands away from her face. Y/N laces their fingers together, metal and flesh. She doesn’t even seem to notice it anymore, the hard coolness of one limb versus the other. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Y/N takes one of her hands away from his to run it through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear. It’s long now, longer than he’s ever had it, nearly past his collarbone. “You’re just so unbelievable, Y/N. You make me happy.”

“You make me happy too, Buck.”

Bucky smiles and dips forward to kiss her again, softer this time, savoring the feel of her lips against his. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to swim in the creek. But you asked first,” he murmurs when she pulls away to gaze at him. “Because you just always seem to know. You just seem to…to _see_ me, Y/N.” He wonders, too, if she knows what he means when he says things like that. He wonders if she knows he’s not just being soft but that he’s trying to say something too.

But her eyes are shining, laugher hidden in the depths, and she seems not to realize he’s trying to say something important, that he’s on the verge of revealing something. Usually, she realizes. Today, she doesn’t. And it breaks his heart just a little bit. “I’m turning you into a teenager, aren’t I?” Y/N asks with a laugh.

“You’re turnin’ me into a lot of things, sweetheart.”

She grins and pulls away from him, throwing open her door. “Let’s go!”

Bucky pulls the key out of the ignition and opens his own door, chuckling as he steps out of the car. The day is hot, the air thick and still without the movement of the car to bring them a breeze. With the sun beating down on him, sweat already rolling down his side, he moves to the trunk of the car where Y/N is digging around. “I didn’t think that I had brought a bathing suit but I thought I’d check…” she says, trailing off before she looks up and shrugs.

“Are you-,”

His heart nearly stops as she pulls her shirt over her head and drops it into the trunk, her fingers going to the button on her jean shorts.

Bucky swallows and hesitates, glancing at Y/N’s soft, exposed skin. “Are you going to go like that?”

She stops, her hands pausing, embarrassment flooding her face as she scoops her shirt back up, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just us out here and it’s the same as a bathing suit or…I don’t know. Maybe it’s not. Sorry, I-,”

“Y/N,” he grabs her hand and tugs the shirt out of it. “I was just surprised. Trust me, this is good look.”

As suddenly as the embarrassment had come, it’s gone. She tips her head back, exposing the long column of her throat, his heart clenching, and lets out a wild, booming laugh. “A good look, huh? I’ll take it.” She meets his eyes, the sparkle in them dimming for just a moment. He frowns but she’s already turning away, slipping her shorts down her legs.

He swallows thickly, wondering how he might survive the day with her looking the way she does. The sunlight slides along her skin like she’s a part of the sunshine itself, like she’s summer incarnate, the goddess of his heart.

Something swells in his chest and he grins, reaching down to tug off his own shirt, jeans following after. Y/N has already walked ahead of him, her shoes left behind. Bucky lies his boots next to her sandals as a memory creeps up on him, toes digging into the grass as he watches Y/N navigate her way through the small copse of trees down to the stream.

He remembers folding his socks up carefully, green and wool and precious, tucking them inside his boots, happy that he and the Howlies had found a place to bathe, a small river, a miracle. Bucky remembers being without soap but also how good it had felt to submerge himself, scrub at his dirty skin with his hands. He remembers laughing. He remembers the grime under his fingernails, the oil from cleaning his gun in his hair. He remembers floating in the river, staring up at the sky as the day faded to evening, purple and orange and deep blue shooting through the sky. He remembers the relief that had flooded his body at being weightless and without the extra weight of the pack he carried, the gun on his shoulder.

He remembers finding peace in that moment, even if his soul was still heavy with the weight of the things he had seen and done. He can hear the flow of the water, birds singing, the lap of the waves on the shore.

“Bucky?” Y/N calls, looking back at him.

Swallowing thickly, he calls out, “I’m coming, doll.”

He walks toward her, ducking his head under the branches to find Y/N with her toes already in the cool water. The air is still humid and close under the trees, but it’s definitely cooler. “How’s the water?” He asks, stepping close to her.

“Disappointing,” she says, glaring at the stream. “It’s not deep. The deepest part looks like it’ll only go to our knees.”

“That’s alright,” he says, walking through the water, surprisingly clear and clean, tiny fishes darting around his feet. “Still feels good.”

“It does,” she admits, threading her fingers through his as she steps close to him. “It’s really nice. Are you going to tell me what you remembered?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, squeezing her hand, “How do you do that? How do you always know?”

She giggles and steps in front of him, tripping over a stone in the water a little. “You’re like an open book to me, Buck,” Y/N says, running her fingers up his ribs. He already knows. He still likes hearing her say it. He likes knowing that someone understands him without his having to explain it.

Glancing over her he starts to tell her about the memory but what comes out instead is, “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Every part of you.”

 A blush immediately heats his cheeks, the birds’ song seeming loud suddenly as he focuses on something, anything else. The stream’s quiet _shush_ of water is reaching a pitch in his mind when her hands slide up his chest. “You are too. I hope you know that.”

Peace. Ease.

Everything is peaceful and easy with her. He closes his eyes and feels her hands against his face, trailing slowly over his cheeks, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose. “Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice like a song. She’s a siren he would gladly always come back to, the most lovely person he’s ever met. The sounds of the south surround them, the slow moving water, the press of tiny waves against the miniature shore, cicadas, crickets, birds, frogs. A patch of sunlight glimmers through the trees, lights swaths of the shore and the water and _them_. There’s sun on his shoulder, warming his skin where it meets metal. He finds it easy to recount the memory, eyes still closed.

When he finishes the memory he swallows and continues, “There were some days-,” he says as Y/N moves around him, gathering his hair in her hands, curling it up into a bun at the base of his neck with a hair tie from her wrist.  “-that it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so bad that day. And I thought maybe, when things were over and calm and when we had won, because you couldn’t believe anything else, that I would like to visit Europe. I thought, maybe it’s a beautiful place.” Y/N’s fingertips drag slowly down his back before she curls her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly.

She nuzzles her nose against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry,” her voice cracks, “for everything that happened to you. It would be a tragedy for anyone to experience but you…you are all the good things in the world. And you came out on the other end of it…still good.”

The letter, they’re her words from the letter. His heart nearly breaks, hearing the thoughts vocalized.

“Y/N-,”

She let’s go of him suddenly and Bucky turns to look at her, expecting to see gentle eyes. Instead he’s hit with a large splash of water. “You were lookin’ hot,” she says, waggling her eyebrows at him, heavy emotions still lying in her eyes.

He points at her, smile stretching his face, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

In one quick, fluid movement, he reaches down and sends a large wave at her. She squeals and darts away. “That’s not fair! This is not going to be fair!” She shouts, laughing as he stalks toward her retreating form. “You’re faster than me. I-,”

“Then you should know not to start what you can’t finish, Y/N,” he says as she stumbles in her scramble away from him. He splashes her again as her eyes steel and light up. This time she retaliates, kicking water at him.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Time seems to slow as she laughs, spinning around to dart further down the stream. His gaze slides over her legs, her hips, the swell of her breasts. He wants her. Forever.

The thought jolts him.

But it’s true and it doesn’t hurt. It’s not painful. It’s pure.

And he realizes then, that he feels free. He feels like he’s floating free on a river, the sky open above him, free of his pack, free his sniper’s rifle. This what it feels like not to carry anything around in his soul, this is what it feels like to be normal, without memories shouting at him day and night. He jolts forward and catches her easily in one fell swoop. She giggles and shouts that it isn’t fair. And they’re both covered in water and their skin is hot as he kisses her quiet.

His lips mold against hers, the kiss all teeth and tongues and passion.

Y/N gasps against him, surprised by the intensity. He slides his fingers down her back, tries not to let her feel the shaking in his flesh hand. His tongue tangles with hers as he cups her ass with large hands, giving the supple flesh a squeeze.

Her hands go to his jaw, kissing him harder, fuller. She presses into him and he’s nervous, anxious, wanting.

And so, he trips.

He trips and she gasps, landing with a gentle huff on his chest as water splashes up around them. “Bucky!” She says, panic he’s never heard before in her voice. “Are you okay?! Did you hit your head? Oh, my God. Oh God,” she tries to pull away, her heartbeat, the pulse in her wrist fluttering as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“I’m fine,” he says, and although its uncomfortable, he is. He’s had worse and he didn’t hit his head. “Hey,” he whispers pressing his hands to her back to keep her in place. “I didn’t hit my head. I’m a super soldier. I’m fine. I’ve fallen off buildings before without a scratch, doll. I’m okay.”

They’ve landed in the deepest part of the creek, their bodies pressed together underwater. Bucky’s hair is submerged, only his face and throat exposed as she straddles his waist. “I’m going to tell you what blue means,” he murmurs, looking up at her. “Right now.” He can’t wait any longer. He tried to tell her before, by the car. _You just seem to…to see me, Y/N._

She tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, a frown on her face, and he knows she’s trying to decipher his quickly shifting moods, today’s impulsiveness. He’s usually too in his head, almost too thoughtful. But he swallows and doesn’t looks away as she swipes some water away from his cheek. “I’m here, Bucky.”

“I tried to tell you before.”

She frowns, her eyes darkening a little as she thinks back. He can see her berating herself, for not catching it. “When? I don’t-,”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Y/N-,”

“But I’m supposed to-,” she stops and looks like she might cry and he can’t figure out why. She shakes her head and looks down at him, her hands against his chest, “Tell me, baby.” The water is cool, a rock digging into his spine, water cresting over his shoulder.

He can feel it in his heart, the beating of hers, the whisper of her soul calling to his. But his mind is louder, shouting at him that he’ll ruin everything if he tells her. The carefree easiness of before is gone, reality having crashed headfirst back into him.

“I just wanted someone to see me,” he says, voice low as he looks into her eyes, the sunshine in her gaze faded and weak as she listens to him. “I picked blue because I wanted someone to see me. I wanted those bastards to look out and see me in the tree line. I wanted them to know, seconds before it happened, who it was that killed them. I wanted them to feel it, to know, for what they did to me. I wanted them, everyone, to know I had made it, that I was alive. That it was me.”

She doesn’t say anything, knows he’s not done.

He sits up in the water so they’re chest to chest, eye to eye. She keeps her hand against his jaw, thumb pressing to the center of his chin, as he curls his arms around her.

“But I wanted someone to _see me_. I-I-I was tortured and scared and I wanted to go _home_. I wanted my _mother_.” His bottom lip trembles, “I wanted someone to look at me and see how I felt, how I was suffering and terrified and sick. And no one did. Steve, he was so giddy about being there, and he didn’t realize that the man he found in that base wasn’t the one that left him in Brooklyn. He didn’t see _me,_ he saw the guy that left him back home. The guys didn’t see me. I was alone. I needed someone to see me. I felt like I was-I felt so _alone_. I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want to feel like a ghost in my own body.”

He bites his lip and buries his face against her shoulder. “And I wanted those fuckin’ Hydra bastards to know who their maker was. I wanted them to see me as the soldier that I was, strong and capable of taking as much as they did, not the weak lab rat they made me. I wanted them to see hell coming. I wanted them to know exactly who’s gun the bullet that killed them came from." He takes a long shuttering breath, taking comfort in her hands against his hair, stroking softly through the wet strands, the hair tie having fallen out. He pulls back to look into her eyes, “You see me. You’re the first person who sees _me_. You don’t see anyone but the person that I am now. You don’t see the Soldier. You don’t see Bucky Barnes from before. You see me.”

She opens her mouth to say something when he continues. “It made me sick, the serum. I was sick for a while. Puking my guts up every other hour for a couple weeks after we were rescued. I couldn’t focus, my head hurt. I wanted to go home. They put dirt and slime in my veins and made me something I never wanted to be but when I’m with you…when I’m with you it feels like gold and silver instead.”

“Bucky,” she murmurs, kissing his cheek lightly. “I see you.”

A sob leaves his mouth, throat working hard, “They took away who I was. They silenced me anyways. They took the blue away and hid me in the shadows, gave me black instead. But you’ve been giving me blue back. You see me. You’ve been giving _me_ back. I thought blue was bad, at first. When you first asked me. I thought it was bad. I thought…I chose blue because it made me an easy target, it would make it easier to-to-,”

“You don’t have to say it. I know,” her hands are against his neck, thumbs keeping his head tilted up so he has to look in her eyes.

He shakes his head, shakes her hands away, to lean into her shoulder again. “I wanted them to know,” he says evenly, “who killed them. I also wanted someone to see the person I was, who I had become.”

“I see you.”

“I know.”

They sit in the water for a long time, until Y/N starts to shiver badly and night starts to fall.

He carries her back to the car, up the embankment and through the trees. He turns his back and watches for cars as the night comes alive with sounds, giving her a chance to change. When she taps him on the shoulder he turns to find her in clean, dry underwear and one of his shirts. “I love you,” she murmurs. “And I see you.”

Bucky grips her hips and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her lips. It’s the gentlest kiss he’s ever given and when he pulls away and Y/N looks dizzy, he knows what he felt earlier is true. Y/N is his forever. She sees him, understands him, doesn’t judge him for the way he feels, doesn’t tell him he should feel differently. “I see you, Buck,” she repeats, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry you felt alone, invisible.”

“I wanted those bastards to see me, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I still do. I still want them to know. I want them to pay for what they did to me all those years, what they turned me into, made me do,” he murmurs. “But I don’t wanna do it anymore. I don’t want to fight anymore.” Tension is forming behind his eyes, a headache working itself to a crescendo. “I’m sorry I ruined our day again. I-,”

But Y/N sees him and so she says, “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s hard. I know it’s hard. Let’s get something to eat. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. It’s late. You’re okay. You’re here with me.”

He’s grateful for Y/N. He’s grateful for summer and the way she turns her back and watches for cars for him the same way he did for her. He’s grateful that she doesn’t make him drive. He’s grateful that she doesn’t offer to and that they instead lie together on the hood of the car as they have so many times before. He’s grateful that she thought to stalk up on water and dried fruit and granola bars to eat.

He’s grateful for the stars in the sky and the warm, humid air and the soft girl next to him. Who points up at the sky and traces constellations, distracting him from what he had admitted, knowing it was too much for one moment in time and that they have all time in the world ahead of them to think about it, discuss it. He’s grateful, really, to be alive, to have been given a second chance.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon when Bucky pulls into a decrepit gas station. His eyes are tired and he hasn’t slept in almost two days, anxiety swallowing up his mind. He hasn’t let Y/N notice yet, though he thinks she can tell anyways.

Fear has clamped his mouth shut. He’s afraid that she might suddenly decide everything is too much, that he’s too much. Every time he thinks about their conversation in the creek, when he thinks about telling Y/N about blue, he feels sick. He had poured his heart out. He had laid all his cards on the table, sacrificed the very inside of his soul. Y/N has him at his knees and she doesn’t even seem to realize it.

And he’d do it all again, say it all again, admit it all again, because it had felt good and freeing and right.

But what’s he to do if Y/N looks at him and crushes what she now holds in her hands? What if she decides that brokenness isn’t good enough? That she deserves better than a crushed spirit? What if she decides he’s crazy, that everything inside his soul is corrupt and not worth her care?

He doesn’t think she’ll do that. But the possibility, the fear that it’s somehow all not real, is overwhelming at times. Sometimes, on the bad days, he wonders if it's worse than that. Maybe he never left Hydra at all, maybe he’s still strapped to a table in Azzano and Steve never came for him. Maybe he’s still a puppet, someone’s rag doll.  

But Y/N seems almost terribly real, whole and bright and full of wild, unapologetic life. If she decides she doesn’t want him, that he isn’t good enough, which is very possible and even likely, it will break him for good.

Y/N could _shatter_ him. But he trusts her not to. He trusts her to treat him gently, tell him the truth. He trusts her to see him, to be _real_.

He almost hates how much he trusts Y/N. He’s never trusted someone this much in his whole life, to lie his soul bare the way he does with Y/N. She holds it carefully though, with tender fingers. She holds his soul and his heart and his dark thoughts gently, preciously.

As the car rolls to a stop Y/N turns up their already loud radio even louder. She’s not really singing anymore, but yelling at the top of her voice, a happy shout. Bucky smiles, even if his head hurts and his eyes are sore.  

“Doll-,”

She throws open her door and jumps out of the car, singing and dancing, seemingly chasing away the last shadows of night in the dusty parking lot. The sun has barely risen. It’s only 6 in the morning. And yet she’s so full of life and energy and he loves her. He loves her so much it burns his chest.

Bucky rolls his eyes at her antics, a sudden wave of affection rolling over him as he turns off the car and climbs out. Y/N glares at him, the music having died with the car. “Buck!”

“Y/N!” He imitates, making his voice squeak a little.

Y/N laughs at him as he pulls out his wallet, grumbling at her under his breath as he unscrews the gas cap. “So damn cheerful all the goddamn time-,”

She suddenly wraps her arms around his middle from behind and squeezes tightly, “You love it.”

The thread of love wrapped around his heart tightens a little, knocking the words, “I love you,” out of him in a breathless rush.

She squeezes tighter for a moment and then lets him go. “You’re such a grumpy old man. I’m gonna get us some snacks.”

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, turning. She pauses and tilts her head to the side. He swallow hard, eyes burning, “Can you drive? I’m so tired.” It’s hard to admit somehow.

She only smiles, “I know. Yeah, I’ll drive. And you’ll get some proper sleep when we get to New Orleans.”

He feels himself blushing as she turns and walks toward the small convenience store. An elderly man in a baseball cap stands in the doorway, squinting out at them through the already hot sun with his hands on his hips.

Y/N waves at him and Bucky knows she must be smiling at the man because his face softens and he calls out a soft greeting to her. Bucky imagines he might have been upset with the volume of Y/N’s music, especially considering the time of day.

He rolls his eyes again, tenderness threatening to swallow him whole.

When Bucky’s finished pumping gas he goes around to the passenger side and climbs in, adjusting Y/N’s seat so he can recline. The sun is warm against his skin through the windshield, the southern breeze humid and heavy as it passes through the car, cicadas already chirping loudly in the trees along the road. He’s sweating, drops of perspiration sliding down his heated skin. But he doesn’t mind, he’d pick scorching heat over chilling cold any day of the week.  

He’s just starting to doze off when Y/N dumps a pile of snacks into his lap through the open window. Glancing up, he squints at her, the sun making a halo around her head. “Sweetheart,” he says tiredly, chuckling a little at her guilty expression for waking him. “Did you find everything you need?”

“I sure did,” she leans in the window and kisses him, folding her arms along the door. “I found you, didn’t I?” she says against his mouth.

Before he can reply she pulls away, an embarrassed look on her face.

He laughs again, digging through the pile of snacks in his lap as she walks around to the driver’s side and opens the door. “That man gave me a discount on the snacks. I told him we’ve been driving around all summer and he seemed to think we were on the run from someone. I kinda let him believe it.”

He shakes his head at her antics before glancing over at her. “Fish?” He holds up a packet of Swedish Fish. “The plastic fish _can’t_ be making a reappearance.”

She glares and snatches the package from him, “I like my plastic fish, thank you.” She tears it open and pops one in her mouth, chewing slowly as Bucky reaches over to trace a finger over the sharpie marks on her legs. “I got you the hot Cheetos.”

“You mean the regular Cheetos?”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt before taking his hand from her leg to hold between her own as she leans across center console to kiss his nose. “It was the best I could do.”

“I know,” he whispers, and he does. She always tries to find him something that he would be able to taste at least a little. “Thank you.”

He kisses her then.

It’s slow and sweet and good and when he pulls away she’s grinning. “Eat your Cheetos and get some sleep.”

With that she starts the car and peels back out onto the road, warm air whipping around her head.

 

~

 

As soon as they’re in New Orleans and checked into their hotel Y/N makes him take a shower to relax. He had half slept in the car, drifting between wakefulness and unconsciousness, only to have something like a nightmare. He had woken to Y/N pulling off to the side of the road, throwing the car into park so she could reach over and pull him into her arms. “It’s okay,” she had whispered as he shook in her arms, “It’s okay, Bucky. You’re here with me. I see you.”

Now, she’s going to try to get him to sleep again.

And he hates himself because he had seen the wonder on Y/N’s face as they drove into the French Quarter where their hotel is. She wants to go explore so bad she’s radiating a wild tension that he thinks won’t help him sleep at all.

But she’s pulling back the soft sheets and adjusting their air-conditioning so it’s a temperature Bucky can bear to be in. When she glances up she must see the guilt written on his face because she says, “C’mon, darlin’, we have all the time in the world to look around later today, or even tomorrow if you need to sleep that long. You’re still exhausted. You…”

She stops and fiddles with her fingers, bare feet against the plush hotel carpet. “You haven’t been okay since we talked about blue and I want you to be okay. I want you to know I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you.”

He wants to ask for how long. How long will she be with him? How long will she be able to stomach _seeing_ him before she’s seen too much?

“Talk to me, Buck,” she says gently. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head.”

“I think I just need to sleep,” he mutters, telling a half-lie.

She giggles then and his heart lightens a little, “I’ll kiss you til you fall asleep.”

“That,” he says, flopping backwards onto the bed. “is an offer I can’t refuse.”

She plops down next to him, crawling up the bed until she’s eye to eye with him. For a moment she just stares at him, eyes drinking him in slowly. “You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he murmurs, “But I thought you were gonna kiss me?”

Laughing she leans over him to rub her nose softly against his, “I am. I’m getting there.”

The room is silent and peaceful, the outside noise shut out, and for the first time since the creek, his soul settles. “This is kinda like kisses,” she says, still nudging his nose with hers.

“I’d rather have a real kiss, baby,” he murmurs. She presses one of her hands against his chest, anchoring him, tethering him to reality. “You okay, Y/N?”

She laughs, “Yes. I’ve been worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She sits back and blinks slowly, as Bucky reaches out to smooth his hand down her thigh, tracing over the marks again. “Why? I…y’know, Bucky, I’ve been trying to be…to give you space and let you process what you told me about blue and about you. I’m trying to stay somewhat professional with you but-,”

He shakes his head, staring up at her worried eyes, “I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be professional. You aren’t my therapist, Y/N. I want you to just be my girl.  ”

“I am your girl. But I still want you to talk to me.”

“Kiss me first,” he says, gaze drifting to her lips.

She laughs, stroking her thumb against one dark circle beneath her eye. “Okay. Alright, Barnes,” she murmurs when he whines at her, pecking his lips lightly at first before pressing forward more firmly.

He groans only to have Y/N giggle and pull back, “You taste like hot Cheetos.”

“Shut up,” he whispers, cupping one hand behind her neck to bring her in for a kiss as the other goes to her hip, tugging her on top of him. Their lips seal together in a passionate but short kiss, Y/N’s tongue pressing past his lips to tangle with his. “Your Cheetos gave me a bad dream,” he murmurs against her mouth, listening to the little, excited pants leaving her as their lips brush together.

His hands are still against her thighs, but he lets them drift upwards, under her shirt. “What did you dream?” She asks, gasping when he presses his fingertips higher than he ever has.

“I lost you.” He drags metal hand around her back, sliding it down her delicate spine. He can’t believe she lets him touch her, when she’s so incredibly breakable. It would only take the slightest pressure to snap her spine under his hand. But she trusts him somehow, believes in him. “I lost you,” he whispers again, his other hand drifting up to squeeze her breast gently. She gasps again, pride surging in Bucky that _he_ ’s the one able to draw vulnerable, small noises from her. “I lost you, Y/N. You left. You said it didn’t matter, that nothing between us meant anything. And I let you leave and-,”

She nips at his bottom lip, “And?”

“And something terrible happened to you and I wasn’t there-,”

“I’m right here. I see you.” She covers his hand against his chest with her own, pressing his hand harder against her as she rolls her hips into his. He presses his thumb slowly over her pert nipple. “I see you.”

Bucky stares up at her, listening to the silence of the room when the air condition suddenly comes back on, startling him, making him take his hand away from her. He can’t focus, the soft feeling of her beneath his hand too good to be true. “I love you, Y/N.”

She bites her lip before whispering very lowly, “I love you, Bucky. I’ve been saying it all this time. I just-,”

“I know,” a grin stretches across his face, so wide it hurts his cheeks. “It’s still nice to hear. I love you. Say it again, Y/N.”

She smacks his chest, her eyes skirting hers. “Bucky-,”

“Please, baby,” he says, pouting at her.

“I love you.” If he didn’t have enhanced senses he wouldn’t have caught it. But he does catch it and she’s said it and he couldn’t be happier. Elation floods his veins as he grips her hips again and flips her over, pressing his forehead to hers. She sighs and grumbles it again, an irritated little growl, “I love you.”

He laughs and kisses her top lip gently, “One more time, Y/N. Just for me.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” She cups his face, her hands warm and soft against the stubble on his jaw. “And if you love me-,”

“I do.”

“-then you’ll get some sleep. Everything is okay, darling. What you told me about blue…it doesn’t change anything. You’re allowed to feel what you feel. There aren’t right and wrong feelings when it comes to things like this. You can feel what you like. And it doesn’t change how _I_ feel about _you_.”

He smiles, too happy to be upset with himself, “You always know. I don’t know how you do it but you always know and I-,”

“I see you.”

“Yes,” he agrees, he knows what that means. “You see me.”

She strokes his cheek, a gentle look in her eyes when he pulls back to meet her gaze, “Will you get some rest now and stop worrying? And tomorrow we’ll explore everything.”

Bucky presses his face to her neck, settling between her legs. “No promises on the worrying, doll.”

She pats his hair gently, “I would expect nothing else, Bucky.”

He can’t seem to stop smiling and Y/N’s skin is warm, heavenly against his as she starts to hum. The sheets rustle, it’s still light outside, and Bucky falls into a peaceful sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it! I AM SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT PLS FORGIVE ME.

“So,” Y/N asks, wiggling her fingers at Bucky from across the table. “Here we are again. Me. You. Delicious food.”

Bucky only rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips.

They’re doing what they do best: Eat.

And, of course, none of it is particularly good for them. Spread before them on the table is fried chicken, po-boy’s, soft shelled crab, and gumbo. Y/N, unable to decide on something, had ordered four meals and declared they would share, family style. “It’s all good right?” She asks through a mouthful of gumbo. “I love it here. These people know how to cook.”

“Maybe getting out of the goddamn Midwest was a good thing. Too many burgers and fries and not enough spices.”

“What has the Midwest ever done to you, Bucky Barnes?”

“It could use a mountain or two, something break up the monotony. Maybe an ocean. And it needs more  _spice_.” He grins at her, “It’s good ‘cause I can fucking  _taste_  it.”

She smiles, the crinkles near her eyes affectionate, loving. “You should leave a review of the Midwest on Yelp, Barnes.”

“What’s Yelp?”

“It’s where you scream your opinions about something into an internet-y void.”

“I thought that was just,” he waves his fork around, “the internet in general.”

She smiles at him again, love on her lips and in her eyes, twisting through the planes of her face like it was meant to be there, like it mattered, like  _he_  matters. “But Yelp is where you yell about  _places_. Like restaurants and stuff.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, instead focused on the food in front of her, eyes roving over the table as she tries to decide what to eat next. A bead of sweat drips down her forehead, the restaurant hot and close, full of noise and people, just like all the diners they’ve been in but somehow  _better_.

Still, he should have listened to her, they should have gotten a table outside. It’s just as rowdy and fun and hot…just not  _as_  hot.

Nodding even though she isn’t looking at him, he can’t tear his eyes away from her as she glances around the restaurant, remembering their morning together, the sweetness of her breath against his lips, the softness of her skin against his in the cool air, the gentleness of her voice as she asked how he slept.

Her eyes sparkle, sunshine incarnate. She’s smiling and eating good food and happy and life seems, for the moment, to be good beyond all measure. He wants to give her this time, this moment, this happiness forever.

He thinks back to that morning, before they had spent all day in sweltering humidity and heat, before they had both sweat through their shirts and done more touristy things than he can imagine. Before they were both dirty and sweaty and before one of the best days of his life.

He can’t keep the smile off his face. His cheeks hurt. Y/N had poked the corner of his mouth, a soft look in her eyes, and murmured, “It’s a good look on you Buck.”

~

Bucky had woken to a cold room, their air conditioning on a much cooler temperature than he would prefer. Y/N had turned it to a warmer setting before they went to sleep but judging from her body sprawled over the blankets rather than under them and the cool air coming out of the thing now, it had gotten bit too warm for her.

Her hand still rests inside the blanket though, against his skin, her fingertips a warm press against the solid muscle of his bicep. Sun is filtering from between the curtains, a shaft of bright light against the floor. He turns on his side and pulls her close, worried she might have gotten cold despite it all and wanting her close to him beside. “Bucky,” she whines, fighting his pull a little. “I’m sleepin’ and you’re too warm.”

“Gotta keep you close, doll,” he murmurs into her temple, deciding that Y/N’s tired, morning voice is the best sound in the world. Bucky nuzzles gently against her, glad that she allows him to be so tactile with her.

She goes limp, letting him pull her closer, arms circling her waist. “We have plans today, Y/N?”

Soft morning light peaks through the curtains, the room bathed in a soft, quiet glow. They had slept through the afternoon and evening, all the way into the next morning, and Bucky has never felt more rested, more at peace.

But.

Then again.

It’s Y/N. And he nearly always thinks he can’t feel any better, and then he does. He tries to fight the grin that threatens him when as he remembers the shape of her mouth when she had  _said I love you I see you_.

It’s still too good to be true.

She sighs, settling against his body, curling into his chest despite everything, as Bucky also remembers her words, her worry, about treating him semi-professionally. He doesn’t want professional, he wants personal. He wants her hand inside of his, her body against his, her sweet voice circling his head, rushing down his spine.

He shivers against her and feels her frown against the skin of his collarbone, still mostly asleep. “You okay? Cold? Sorry I turned it up, I just-,”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fingers tracing down her spine, happy for the softness of the morning and Y/N’s half-asleep murmuring. “I know.” And then, shake in his voice, holding his breath he says, “I love you.”

A barely audible, “Love you too,” is murmured into his neck before she shifts and props herself up on one elbow. Her eyes are half lidded, hair a mess, as she looks at him, sun crossing over her back, white sheets rustling. The air conditioner clicks off.

Silence.

“What’ll we do today, Barnes?” She strokes her fingers down the center of his chest, voice quiet. “We got the whole wide world in front of us here in New Orleans.”

“You’re my tour guide, Y/N. You tell me.”

She chuckles, the sound like a song, like a whisper on the wind, like delicate chimes, like  _home_. His heart is soft and fragile, resting on the tips of her fingers, and he wishes he could tell her. He wishes he had the words to tell her just how much he loves her.

Just as he’s reaching out to her, to touch her cheek, she moves. She shifts to sit cross legged beside him, her hand against his stomach as she stares out over the sea of plush white hotel carpeting to the beam of sun shining through the crack in the curtains.

He gazes at her, at the slope of her neck, the twist of her lips into a tiny frown, the shape of her breasts beneath her sleepshirt,  _his_  t-shirt. He remembers the way her breasts felt beneath his hands and has to resist the urge to push her backward and run his teeth over the soft peaks of her nipples.

Bucky glances away from her for a moment, unsure what to do with that want, terrified to touch and be touched that way, but craving it all the same.

Her hand finds his cheek, cupping it gently, turning his face toward her. “Let’s just explore. See where they day takes us.” She’s grinning and he finds he can’t not grin back.

~

He wishes he could pull her into his arms now, but there’s a mountain of food between them and they’re both sweaty and dirty from the long day they’re had. She had kept her hand inside his, pressed kisses to his cheeks, gotten a bit handsy when no one was looking. There’s a tension between them, that wasn’t there before and he wonders if Y/N wants him as bad as he wants her. He wants to feel those lovely lips against his skin.

He wants go back to the hotel and shower, so that they can lie down together and he can touch her as much as he wants, as much as he also wants the day to never end.

“Drinks after this?” She asks as she glances around the small, crowded restaurant, eyes wide as she hovers her fork above one plate. Bucky finds that if he looks at Y/N, focuses on the rise and fall of her chest  the space between them isn’t so large. He reaches across the table to take her hand, fingers squeezing hers as their hands rest against the worn wooden table. She’s there, she’s real, made of love and trust and whole goodness.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he says quietly, so only she can hear. He would follow her anywhere, already has.

There’s a clatter of dishes from the kitchen, loud curses spilling through the doorway, pulling Y/N’s attention away from him for a moment before she turns back to him, gaze soft.

“Not like it matters to you, Buck,” she accuses. “You can’t get drunk.”

He stares at her for a moment, the want in his soul tipping ever upward. His want for her, her love, her soul, her stability. “We could just go back to the hotel,” he hears himself saying. It’s selfish and he knows it. “It can just be me and you. Like always. We can stop at that liquor store, get you somethin’. Take it back with us if you want.”

A wide smile stretches over her face, “You know me so well.”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says, despite the sudden realization that they’re in a crowd now and he doesn’t really mind.

She smiles, takes a bite of gumbo, and squeezes his fingers, “And I have been very proud of my boy today, dealing with the crowds and people and tourists.”

Hers. He’s hers.

He smiles.

“There  _has_  been a lot of people around today, Y/N.”

She smooths her thumb over the back of his hand, “Hotel?”

“Hotel,” he agrees, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. A thread of guilt twists through his heart as Y/N waves their waitress over, a broad grin on her face. Bucky doesn’t hear her charm the woman into bringing them the check and more than a few boxes to take all their food with them. He watches her mouth move, the way she leans in, eyes soft. She nods at the girl and then turns back to him.

She says something to him.

But he doesn’t hear her.

There’s cotton is his ears, his vision rosy. He’s sure he has what Y/N calls heart eyes.

He’s so in love with her it hurts.

“Bucky?” Concern laces through her voice. “You alright, sweetheart? You zoned out on me there for a second?”

He nods, smiles, and squeezes her hand a little tighter. “I’m okay. I’m good.”

And for the first time in a long time, it’s true. Not half-true, not a lie, but just true.

He’s been recovering this whole time, almost completely without realizing it. Since he figured out the meaning of blue and since he had told Y/N and then been reassured she didn’t hold his thoughts against him, he’s realized that.

He’s better.

Before he would have never been able to get the words out. But he had and Y/N had let him take nearly two months to do it.

~

They had gotten to the liquor store, sandwiched between a convenience store and a late night burger joint, only for Y/N to turn to Bucky and say, “You head back to the hotel and I’ll meet you there.” Her hand slips from his as she smiles at him. The street is dark, but the buzzing florescent light from the store behind Y/N casts her in a blue light.

“Why?” He asks, “I can wait out here for you-,”

“Trust me,” she says, reaching out to nudge his arm. “C’mon, baby, be a good sport.” She smiles brightly and then huffs out an annoyed puff of breath when he only levels a stare at her. “It’s a  _surprise_  for you and I’ll only be a minute behind you.”

Bucky swallows thickly.

He doesn’t want to leave Y/N, has a bad feeling about the whole enterprise. He doesn’t like leaving Y/N alone, worried something might happen while he was gone. He remember that night in Iowa when he had gone out for food, warned Y/N to lock the door behind him, only to come back and find it still open. He remembers the way his heart had knocked against his ribs, warning him of all the danger that could have transpired. “I don’t-,”

“Please?” She asks, giving him a small pout before tripping closer to him on the tips of her toes. “It’ll be okay.” Her hands slide up his chest and lace behind his neck as he closes his eyes. She’s close, her lips featherlight against his, her fingers warm against his neck as she begs quietly. A thick, humid breeze barely stirs the air around them. Bucky feels like they’re in their own little pocket of the world, standing on the sidewalk so intimately together.

Bucky knocks his forehead against hers, sighing in defeat. “Fine.”

“You afraid I’m gonna skip out on ya?” She asks, teasing him gently before she melds her mouth to his for a moment, letting him ground himself in the taste of her lips. She smells like sweat and rainwater and rose. It’s been a very long, very good day.

His chest tightens, the bad feeling at leaving her only intensifying as light rain starts to mist down around them in the muggy, damp air. “I hope not.” There’s a tremble in his voice. Maybe she won’t leave but he’s suddenly irrationally worried something bad might happen. Y/N frowns at him and starts to open her mouth when he cuts her off, “I’ll be at the hotel, doll,” he sends her a small smile. “You have a key?”

Her eyes are soft, her voice too, as she steps forward and says, “Yeah. Hey, look at me?”

Bucky’s eyes jump to hers immediately, and he wonders what might be residing in his gaze because she leans up and kisses him again, her mouth soft against his. She cradles his head between her hands, patting his cheek gently when she pulls away. “Everything is alright, Buck. I’m trying to do something special for you. Will you let me?”

She shouldn’t be allowed, he thinks. She’s done so much for him already.

He nods anyways, shoots her a shaky smile, and steps away.

~

When he gets back to the hotel, the taste of Y/N still on his lips, he decides to take a shower to relax while he waits for her to return.

He wonders what it is she could be getting him from a liquor store. The liquor, as it were, doesn’t really do much for him.

Humming to himself he turns on the shower as hot as it will go and steps under the spray. It’s hard for him to relax, even with the hot water, the steam, the bone deep tiredness that he feels after their long day. God, he just wants to sleep. He wants to lie down with Y/N and kiss her until everything else goes numb and there’s nothing left in the world but her. Today he had realized just how much he enjoys being a tourist with Y/N. He had known before, but today, unburdened by a color, he had fully enjoyed it, every single moment was special. And where many people were embarrassed to blend with the tourists, Y/N embraced it. She had taken pictures with her phone, asked ridiculous questions, signed them up for tours, eaten in clearly very touristy areas.

Every minute had been precious.

His eyes drift closed under the water as he hears the faint beep of the keycard in their hotel door. “It’s me, Buck!” Y/N calls out. “Everything is okay. I’m here.” Her voice isn’t joking or sarcastic, its genuine and warm, because she knows he needs to hear it.

Almost immediately the tension drains from his shoulders. Y/N is in the room. She’s  _okay_. Nothing has happened to her. She raps her knuckles against the door softly. “I love you,” she says, her voice strong. Maybe it’s easier for her to say when she doesn’t have to look into his eyes. He knows saying it is hard for her. “I’ll be on the balcony when you’re done.”

She walks away from the door before he can answer, tell her he loves her too.

He washes quickly, barely has the suds out of his hair before he gets out of the shower, yanking on clothes and haphazardly drying his hair with a towel as he goes to the balcony.

Bucky stops short when he slides open the door to their dark balcony, night having fallen. “ _Y/N_!” He hisses after a moment’s hesitation. Stepping forward he pulls the cigarette out of her hand and glares at her. “What-why? Don’t you…it so bad…why would you-,” he splutters. “Why would you start smoking?”

As far as he knows, she doesn’t. How could she have hidden it from him for so long? “Do you know how bad it is for you? Why-?”

“I used to,” she says with a shit eating grin. “Not for very long. They gave me headaches. But Steve told me that you used to smoke and that they can’t hurt you now. It won’t have any sort of effect on you but I was thinking…the act of smoking, muscle memory, might help you somehow. Reconcile memories or even bring something back.” She taps the pack in her hands.

He opens his mouth, unsure what to say when she steps forward and kisses him. She tastes like tobacco and mint. “Where did you get them?”

“Convenience store next door.” She looks into his eyes before glancing away, “You figured out blue. Now how will you deal with it? How do you fit that into who you are now? How you’re recovering? Did you forgive Bucky? And have you forgave the part of you that’s the Winter Soldier?”

“Y/N-,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I-,”

She kisses him again, her hand drifting up to cup his cheek. “Humor me.”

And since he would walk to the end of the earth if she asked, and since she has never steered him wrong before, and since he trusts her, loves her, he says, “Okay.”

She steps away and smiles at him, light from their room reflecting in her eyes as people pass below their balcony. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll come back here to you.”

He nods and watches her slip away, lifting the cigarette to his lips is almost too natural, the way he holds it, the ease at which he presses it between his lips, inhaling a long, deep breath. It takes him back almost immediately. To dancing and smoky dance halls and battlefields and bars and times long gone. Bucky, Bucky of before, was charming. He was a pleaser. He knew how to make everyone fall in love with him.

The Soldier hadn’t been. He hadn’t been charming or loving or a pleaser. That part of him had been trapped and screaming, clawing, scratching at the inside of his brain for years, leaving behind violent, red scars that would never fade. The Soldier had been brutal and unforgiving and impenetrable. But before he had become, been  _forced_  to become, the Soldier he had been something in between. When Steve had found him in Azzano he had been  _in between_  and now he’s in between again.

He doesn’t know when he stopped being able to just be a person. His  _own_  person.

“Buck?”

With Y/N he is.

“Bucky?”

She’s his person.

“You alright?”

But she’s also made him learn how to be his  _own_  person again.

She takes the smoking filter from between his fingers and tosses it over the railing. He hadn’t noticed h had finished it. Someone is playing jazz down on the street. “You okay?” Y/N presses a hand to either of his cheeks. “What’s-,”

He cuts her off, pressing a forceful kiss against her plump lips. She groans against his mouth before he suddenly pulls away and wraps her in a bone crushing hug. “I don’t know if I believe in cosmic forces Y/N but something brought you to me. I know I said it before but you’ve been giving pieces of me back. I haven’t forgiven myself. How can I? How can I forgive  _him_? And how can I forgive me if I don’t know who I am?” He nuzzle into her hair. She smells like peaches and rose. “But I think I’m starting to figure it out. Because of you.”

Bucky feels her hug him back, her arms tight around him. Her arms are soft against the hard, unyieldingness of his body. “Will you dance with me?” He asks her before she can say anything, afraid the moment might shatter at their feet.

She nods against him and so he releases her a little, positions their bodies correctly and leads her in a slow dance around their small balcony. Neither of them say anything. They don’t need to.

Eventually the dancing turns to swaying together, their bodies pressed tightly together, molded perfectly against each other. The cicadas are out in full force when the jazz band on the street finally starts to pack up hours later. “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispers suddenly, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Bucky freezes, pulls her tighter against his chest as though she might suddenly disappear. “No one’s going anywhere,” he says, adamant about it and a little frantic. “No. You won’t doll.”

She sighs but doesn’t pull away, “What if I’m not going back to New York at the end of the summer?”

“Then I won’t go.”

“Bucky-,”

“ _No._ ” It’s final.

He hasn’t just figured all this shit out to lose Y/N. No way, no how.

“No,” he mutters again, suddenly tired. “No, Y/N. No.”

She nods and kisses his shoulder. “Okay,” she says, pressing her hands inside his shirt to dance up his spine. “Okay.” He nods back and then pulls away to kiss her tenderly, pour his love for her out of his soul.

But somehow it doesn’t feel like the end of the conversation. Maybe his feeling of dread and worry earlier hadn’t been about something happening to Y/N but about her leaving, not coming back to the hotel.

And, maybe, his fear isn’t totally unfounded.

Hasn’t he lost enough? Hasn’t he lost enough people?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it!

The sky overhead is a dark, storm gray as Bucky drives down a desolate back road.

It’s just starting to rain, a few drops falling from the sky to splat against the windshield, but Y/N still has her window open. She’s leaning her head against the door frame, her arm stuck out the window as a slow, cool breeze filters through the car.

She pulls her arm in suddenly and looks over at him. There’s a sadness in her eyes that he doesn’t recognize, shadows darkening her sunshine eyes. “Can you pull over?” She asks quietly.

“Sure,” he answers, immediately pulling to the side of the deserted road, hating that things are odd between them.

As soon as the car rolls to a stop she opens the door and gets out.

She leaves the door open, walking down the road away from the car. Bucky sighs and turns off the car, watching her walk.

Y/N stops and stares out at the horizon, at the dark clouds, the empty road, the waving summer grass, the hills in the distance. When it starts to rain harder, he climbs out of the car too and walks toward her. In the short few seconds it takes him to reach her, the light rain becomes a downpour. “Y/N?” He asks when he gets close, reaching out for her hand.

Before he can wrap his fingers around hers she moves her hand, crossing her arms over her chest as they both become drenched. “Y/N?” He asks again.

She turns to him, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I’m sorry things have been weird between us.” Drops of rainwater roll down her cheeks like tears. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. I shouldn’t have said anything about New York…about the end. This isn’t about me-,”

Bucky tugs her close, hugs her tightly to his chest. “It’s about both of us, Y/N.”

She nuzzles her nose against his neck, her breath fanning across his skin. He sighs, closing his eyes as the warmth of her body melds with his, the rain cold against their skin. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “Bucky,” Y/N says, swallowing harshly, “You have people in New York. You have a life there-,”

“I told you,” he says into her hair, “New York isn’t mine anymore. It’s not my home. I-,”

“Your people-,”

“ _You_  are my person.  _You_  are one of my people.”

She sighs and then presses a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold harshness of the rain runs up his spine. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. I want you to be happy. You were making improvements and doing so well-,”

“Because of  _you_ ,” he says, bringing one hand up to the back of her head, cradling her gently to him. “Because of you, Y/N.” He kisses her temple. “Please tell me you know what you mean to me.”

He feels her nod against his body before she trembles in his arms, rain having seeped into every inch of their clothing. “I know. Do you know what you mean to me? Do you know how much this summer has meant? And how you made me realize that the life I’m living isn’t the one that makes me happy?”

She pulls back, cups his cheeks in her hands, “You make me happy.”

“Then why do you want to leave me alone?”

Y/N pats his cheek carefully, “I don’t want to leave you alone but I’m not happy in New York. I’m thinking about what’s best for both of us. You said at the beginning of this trip that you felt you needed redemption. How am I supposed to take that away from you?”

There’s a light in her eyes, a fierceness in her desperation to give him what he needs. “How,” she asks, “am I supposed to ask you to abandon Steve? The Avengers? Your future?”

“Shouldn’t I get to decide my future? What if my redemption isn’t killing myself on some battlefield or fighting and  _fighting,_  when I’ve been doing that for years. What if you’re my redemption?” He pauses and grips her hips tight. “The world is quieter now than it has been in a long time. If something terrible happens, I’m only a phone call away. I want to be with you. Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe I don’t need redemption. Maybe I need a  _break_.” He swallows hard, “I don’t want to get bad again. I want to be happy and figure things out. I’m always around, if the world needs me.”

She searches his eyes for a long time, the rain still pouring down around them. The moment seems intensely long, as they often do with Y/N, like she slows time. Raindrops roll down her face as her lips part, eyebrows drawing together as a startled breath draws from her lungs.

Time slows until the rain seems to still in the sky, the sun drawing from behind a cloud to illuminate the world around them in a golden glow, even as it continues to rain.

And then she’s kissing him, time moving forward again, her mouth warm against his in the cold rain. She slips her tongue into his mouth, tangling with his as a groan rumbles in his chest. All he can think about is her lips against his, the roar of the downpour around them, his future with her stretching out in front of him.

He won’t go back to New York.

Not if he can help it.

Y/N’s hands, cold as ice, slip under his shirt and skirt along his skin. “Bucky,” she murmurs against his cheek when she pulls back. “I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

“I’m glad you did,” he whispers back before taking her hand and pulling her back toward the car. “C’mon, doll face.”

She doesn’t resist him and when he looks back at her over his shoulder she has a grin on her face. “What are you up to, Barnes?”

Bucky presses her against the side of the car, heart pounding as he kisses down her neck. He feels like a teenager again, giddy and wild with love for his girl. In some part of his mind he knows she hasn’t said she won’t leave him, but still, he hopes. He hopes she won’t leave him behind, leave him alone, abandon him to this summer, leave him to brave the rest of the year on his own.

“I want you,” he murmurs to her. “If you want me.”

She bites her lip and giggles, pressing her arms around his waist. “I’ve wanted you for a while.”

He knows and yet he’s still unsure if she does, always worried that she might suddenly change her mind about him.

It goes quiet between them again, all their unsaid words and all the uncertainty of the future, pooling between them on the ground. Y/N gazes at him softly before she leans forward to lie careful kisses against his neck, sucking gently at his pulse point as she rakes her fingers down his back.

Y/N kisses up his jaw to nip at his earlobe. “You taste like summer,” she murmurs in his ear as Bucky pulls open the back door. She kisses him once more, fully on the mouth before she climbs in the surprisingly spacious backseat of the car, lying on her back to look up at him.

Bucky settles between her thighs, water dripping from both of them. He leaves the door open, figuring the car would dry out anyways.

He kisses her again, this time slowly, passion dripping from mouth. His hands are shaking, his mouth trembling, his heart cracking his ribs. “Y/N,” he murmurs, “You gotta know I haven’t…done  _this_  in a while.”

“Since you’ve been  _you_?”

“I don’t know what happened to me as the Winter Soldier. I don’t count it.” He doesn’t say more, knows that he’s implied enough and that Y/N will get it.

She strokes his cheek and looks behind him at the falling rain. Thunder cracks overhead as she squirms beneath him, “Some farmer is going to see your ass hanging out, Barnes. You really want that to be how your first time since whenever goes-,”

Y/N grins up at him as he lets out a loud laugh and kisses her again. She wriggles beneath him until he pulls back. “Y/N-,”

Her hand goes behind her back, pulling out something she had laid down on. She snorts when she see what it is, laughing and pushing back his long hair, to put the hat on his head backward so bill faces away from his face.  

“If that’s the goddamn chicken hat-,” he starts.

“You mean cock hat.”

“ _Y/N_ -,”

“ _Bucky_ ,” she imitates, grinning at him. Her smile fades as she brushes a few beads of water from his face. “I see you.”

His heart clenches hard as he leans down to press his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “I love you too, Y/N.”

~

It’s dark and the rain has stopped when Bucky wakes hours later. Y/N is partially undressed and lying on his chest, her soft breaths fanning across his collarbone. His pants are still around his ankles and he has to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He kisses the top of her head, knuckles grazing down her spine as she stirs. “Buck,” she whispers. “I-,”

“Don’t,” he says gently. “No jokes. Just let the moment be.”

She huffs against him, her voice a little hoarse, which makes him grin, “You think the worst of me James Barnes. I was only going to say you’ve been holding out on me.”

Bucky thinks about how soft she felt around him, her breathy sighs against his skin, her fingers digging into his biceps, the way it felt when the both came. He wants to go again but the car is hot and humid with the end of the rain, and everything is close and sweaty and sticky and heavy. His cheeks still flame at her compliment. “We should try it again when we have more room.”

“I wonder if someone saw your ass.”

“Shut up,” he chuckles, leaning up to kiss her. “There’s no one along this road.”

She grins down at him, “But the farmer?”

“What’s a farmer gonna be doin’ out in the rain, Y/N?”

A wicked look filters into her eyes as she leans up on her elbow to gaze down at him, “I’m only worried because I want to be the only one looking at your ass.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head to the side and reaches up to stroke her cheek. “You’re beautiful and wonderful, Y/N. I’ll never stop telling you that. You’re heart understands mine.” Before she can interrupt him, he glances away and says, “New York ain’t for me. Not anymore.”

Instead of answering she pulls away, climbing out of the car to shuffle back into her clothes. Bucky sits up in the backseat and pulls his own clothes into place. He shuts the door and walks to where she stands looking over a field of overly long grass. Bucky wraps his arms around her and leans his chin against her shoulder. It’s cool outside the car, the breeze slow and light. The only sound is low shuffle of the wind in the grass.

The sky has cleared, only a few clouds lingering at the edges of the dark sky, stars dotting the inky blackness.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for minute, leaning back into Bucky’s chest, turning her head to press a kiss to his neck. “We have time. It’s not the end of the summer yet.” She turns in his arms to look up at him, that ridiculous hat still on his head. She takes it off and turns it around, looking at the rooster, slowly tracing over the embroidery, her mind a million miles away. “We have time. I’m not going anywhere yet and there’s no reason to decided not to go to New York right now. If I decided not to go back and you do, you won’t lose me. You won’t. You’ll always have me.”

He opens his mouth but she shakes her head and puts the hat on her head so she can reach up and run her hands through his hair. “I don’t have to decide about the end of the summer now. And neither do you.”

It’s not good enough but it’s all they have at the moment. So, he nods and kisses her and wonders how he can stop the summer from ending.


End file.
